


Pressure Changes

by sebbykurt



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, Homophobia, M/M, Warnings for Drug Use, also smut, and under aged drinking, basically daryl and hipster!rick, for there shall be plenty of it, that high school au nobody ever wanted, this story took SUCH a turn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:10:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1910424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebbykurt/pseuds/sebbykurt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Any possible attempt at making proper use of the English language fails him completely when Daryl drags Rick’s hand up to his mouth, tongue poking out and lapping at the single bead of crimson like it’s in some way the most normal thing he’s ever done.  His eyes latch on to Rick’s and that’s pretty much it; Rick knows he’s fucked.</p>
<p>He realizes, perhaps not for the first time, that he’s avoided Daryl for reasons surpassing a childish fear of rednecks and their motorcycles.  //HS!AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> as many of you know, i have an addiction to high school au's, especially for this pairing. i had seven days of vacation and decided to start a multi-chap fic as a sort of a summer project. let's see how this goes~

It all starts, oddly enough, with a cigarette.

Rick Grimes is standing with his back pressed against the red brick of his high school, caught in the middle of a conversation with Lori when he starts to feel that familiar tingle of _need_.  As always, it starts in the tips of his fingers, nothing more than a slight itch that he can ignore if he tries hard enough.

But then it starts to creep up his arms, stopping at just a moment in the crook of his elbow before scratching its way up to his shoulders.

He jerks away from the wall, shooting the girl beside him an apologetic smile when she frowns at him.  “Sorry, I just—“

She cuts him off with the wave of her hand and a melodramatic roll of the eyes.  “You need a cigarette, right?”  He shrugs sheepishly, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck while she sighs heavily and shakes her head in disappointment.  “I thought you quit.”

“It’s a long process,” he mumbles, fighting the urge to feel defensive.  “I’m down to three a day.”

His response earns him the jerky raise of one expertly sculpted eyebrow.  “And this one will be your…?”

“Third.”

“It’s only _three o’clock_ in the _afternoon_. _Jesus_ , Rick.”

_And this is why we broke up,_ Rick thinks to himself, closing his eyes and rubbing tiredly at the bridge of his nose.  It’s been three hours since his last smoke and the time gap is giving him a headache.  Lori’s griping, however good intentioned, is only making him feel worse.

“Look, Lor, I think it’s time we head home anyway.  Andrea needs help on her science project and you’re already twenty minutes late.”

Miraculously enough, Lori manages to pull the corners of her lips down even further.  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

_This_ , the meetings behind the school on Saturdays and pretending not to feel agitated every time Lori tries to hint at their getting back together, is what makes Rick _need_ the nicotine.  Granted, they aren’t always alone.  Sometimes Andrea will tag along, often bringing Shane and her sister along with her.  They bring their bags of weed and Lori usually leaves before the first joint is lit, much to Rick’s relief (and Shane’s disappointment), but there are still days like _this_.

“D’you have a lighter?” Lori asks, doing her best to seem flirtatious as she reaches for her back pocket, where she keeps a lighter for the sole purpose of providing one whenever he’s in need.  Good girls like her don’t smoke.  He still wonders why she even bothers with him.

He doesn’t, but he doesn’t particularly want to leave her hanging around any longer than necessary.  “I’m good, thanks.”

She pouts, reminding Rick too much of a little girl who just lost her shot at a stuffed animal during a seemingly simple game _of Ring Toss_.  “Alright, well,  guess I should get going…”

“For Andrea’s sake.  Hope you two ace that project.”

She pushes away from Rick a bit warily, like she’s waiting for him to change his mind and pull her into one of those movie kisses that they never even saw when they were together.

He would rather kiss a dead fish.

He lets out a heavy sigh as soon as she’s out of sight, reprimanding himself for thinking so cruelly of someone who was only trying to make herself happy.  He owes her some forgiveness anyway.

Any possibility of guilty dwelling is shot when Rick once again feels an almost painful surge of discomfort race through his bloodstream.  His head throbs in time with the rush of blood through his veins.  The kind of adrenaline that comes with a craving.

Figuring that there are probably a handful of high school degenerates meandering around on a boring Saturday afternoon, Rick decides to walk away some of the itch in search for a light.

He bites anxiously at the skin on his thumb as he heads around to the courtyard, not at all worried about the cameras that sit still on their posts, covered in spider webs and their undeserving victims.  Not paying attention, he bites at the skin until he tears through it, staining his fingernail red with blood.

He keeps walking but focuses solely on his hand, licking the blood away from his teeth and scowling at the taste of metal.  “ _Shit_ …”

Had he known that another human being was turning the corner, he would have stopped prodding at the cut on his finger and held his head in a defensive sort of greeting.

Then, perhaps, his life would have managed to hold on to its last shred of normalcy.

The body that collides with his own is both tall and large.  He immediately senses the tight curves of muscle, jamming his uninjured hand into a set of (admittedly impressive) abs.  The hand that curls around his elbow is the only thing that manages to keep him standing because even though he himself is not dreadfully small, the body that collides with his own seems somehow familiar with the act of shoving people away.

The next few seconds pass by in a blur of overlapping syllables.

_“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry…”_

_“Watch where the fuck you’re goin’, Christ…”_

Rick’s brain moves too slowly to catch up to the fact that the rough southern accent greeting him harshly belongs to that of a boy who Rick has worked hard to avoid over the years.

His breath catches in his throat as he looks up, unable to fight the spike of fear that shoots down his spine like a lightning bolt.

_Daryl Dixon._

A series of warnings zip simultaneously through Rick’s head, whispered in the voices of nervous classmates as they press rumors against the backs of their palms in the noisy rush of the break between classes.

_I heard he came here straight from jail.  No other school would take him._

_Remember Merle, that asshole who beat up our old gym teacher?  Yeah, that’s his brother.  Stay away from him, man._

_I feel like he’s one of those insane people who bites you every time you so much as try and talk to him._

_Don’t get mixed up with kids like that.  In fact, don’t even look at them.  You don’t want to know what kind of damage they can do._

The last voice, ringing a bit louder than the others, belongs to his mother, who saw the younger Dixon boy hanging around at an old gas station.  She took one look at his motorcycle and made Rick promise never to associate with ‘ _kids like him_.’

At the time, Rick had rolled his eyes and scoffed at her, but even he couldn’t deny the fear that Daryl and his rumored past made him feel.  Rick tried his hardest never to believe the lies of others, but his friends were fairly good at convincing him of the worst in people.

And right now, the rumored ex-jailbird is staring down at him with a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and a cigarette dangling from between his teeth like a second tongue. 

“Well, well, well,” Daryl slurs, slow and honey sweet.  “If it ain’t Officer Friendly.”

Rick flinches at the use of the old nickname, given to him in the fifth grade when he told on a kid for swiping the answer key to some test off the teacher’s desk.  People used to mock him for being _too nice,_ a crime that only a kid in Georgia could be accused of committing.

He hasn’t heard it in a long time, at least not from anyone who wasn’t immediately close to him.  Shane liked to tease him about it and sometimes Lori would join in, but other than that the childish nickname had died out.

Or at least, that’s what he thought.

In a fit of stupidity, mostly induced by shock at the sight and sound of this angry, rebellious boy, the only thing that manages to come pouring out of Rick’s mouth is: “Got a light?”

Daryl’s smile falls slack, lopsided and careless.  He adjusts himself so that his weight is mostly on his left foot, plucking the cigarette out of his mouth and snorting incredulously at the other boy.  “Never thought a kid like you’d smoke.”

Nonetheless, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out an ancient-looking lighter, tossing it before Rick has time to prepare himself.  Luckily, Rick has always had pretty decent reflexes, and he catches it without much trouble.

Daryl Dixon, with his tattoos and scars and dark clothes, just handed Rick Grimes his lighter.  And Rick is flipping the switch as he pulls his last cigarette out of his shirt pocket, eyes cast to the flame while Daryl watches.

It’s horrifyingly surreal, but in a way that is more nightmarish than dreamlike.

He thinks of his mother’s words as he passes the lighter back, gritting his teeth to keep from shivering when their fingers brush.

“Thanks,” Rick mumbles, inhaling the sweet sting of nicotine with a sigh of relief.  “Needed this.”

Silence, then. 

It isn’t exactly _tense_ , although it sure as hell isn’t comfortable. 

Daryl shifts again.  Rick is oddly tuned in to his every move, from the way his fingers twitch to the way his jacket changes over his torso.

Rick doesn’t even manage to get much enjoyment out of his cigarette, realizing a little too late that he’s inhaled some of that delicious nicotine without even noticing. 

He’s too focused on this odd fact to notice Daryl’s hand moving quickly from his side, reaching out liquid quick to grab Rick’s free hand.  “What’d ya do to yer’self?” 

Thoughts too muddled to focus on any single event, Rick managed to completely miss the drop of blood slipping down his thumb.  It’s little, nothing to worry about, but it still bothers Rick that he somehow didn’t notice.  It bothers him even more that Daryl’s hand is comfortably warm and rough around his own.

“Nothin’ I can’t take care of,” Rick declares, perhaps a bit too proudly.  He tries to pull his hand away, but Daryl is pulling it back before Rick can get his bearings.

Rick stumbles forward, just barely managing to keep the cigarette caught between his free fingers.  “Wha—“

Any possible attempt at making proper use of the English language fails him completely when Daryl drags Rick’s hand up to his mouth, tongue poking out and lapping at the single bead of crimson like it’s in some way the most normal thing he’s ever done.  His eyes latch on to Rick’s and that’s pretty much it; Rick knows he’s fucked.

He realizes, perhaps not for the first time, that he’s avoided Daryl for reasons surpassing a childish fear of rednecks and their motorcycles. 

There are about a million things Rick wants to say as Daryl drops his hand, one of them being “fuck off” in his best attempt at genuine anger.  But he isn’t angry, just… _startled_.

And he isn’t used to that.

Daryl drops his hand for good and Rick lets it fall limp against his side.

“See ya around?”

Daryl shoots Rick one last smile before turning on his heel and disappearing back around the corner, the sound of his boots scraping across concrete sounding off like a series of shots in Rick’s head.

Rick stands there for what feels like hours, staring down at his hand like it’s _offended_ him somehow.  He wonders if Daryl could feel the quick _bu-bump_ of his pulse in the curve of his finger.  He wonders if Daryl cares at all about what he just did, or if he was high or drunk or just all-around ignorant of the way his actions could ultimately affect someone who might as well be a complete stranger.

He stands there until his cigarette burns itself down to nothing but a meaningless stub of cancer.

He lets it sink to the floor with a quivering sigh, snubbing it out with the heel of his boot and whispering “ _fucking shit_ ” under his breath before finally walking away.


	2. And In The Beginning, There Was Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rick really likes alcohol; a party scene at the greene's house

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for the kind comments you've already left me! everything you say is taken to heart and brought into consideration while i'm writing!! if this chapter seems a bit sloppy, i apologize, but i've been rather anxious lately and i used this as an excuse to work off some of the nerves:/

Andrea is staring at him like he’s grown a second head.

Rick fidgets under the attention, scrubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck.  He shivers when the bandage he has wrapped around his thumb skates across the sensitive skin just above his t-shirt. 

It’s all he thought about last night – the warm, damp heat of Daryl’s tongue.  When he finally managed to fall asleep, _after hours of tossing and turning_ , he woke up to sweaty sheets after hazy dreams of a hot mouth and parted lips.  He woke up feeling guilty and uncomfortable, so much so that he couldn’t help himself from telling Andrea about the strange encounter he shared with Daryl yesterday afternoon.

He doesn’t know whether or not he should regret the decision, not quite able to read the expression painted across the girl’s features.  Shock, probably.  And disgust.

“Are you gonna say somethin’?”  He shifts in his seat, shooting the entrance to the kitchen a wary glance.  Andrea’s parents are hardly ever around and Amy is off with friends, but the idea of anybody else hearing _anything_ about this is making him jumpy.

With a few quick blinks, Andrea shakes her head and kicks away from the table, going straight for the liquor cabinet her parents think she can’t access.  Little did they know their daughter was practically a thief in training.

“What am I supposed to say?” She huffs.  She grabs two bottles of beer and slides one across the table in Rick’s direction.  “In all honesty, I guess I’m a little bit jealous.  Every girl who’s ever seen him has wanted more than just a teaser view.”

Rick flinches.  “Yeah, and how many has he slept with anyway?”

Andrea shrugs, tapping her fingers against the glass bottle and shooting him a little smirk.  “Does it really matter?  It’s pretty obvious that he’s got a little more than pussy on his mind.”

“Oh my _god_ , Andrea…”

Her laughter is loud and infectious, and Rick is a bit relieved to feel some of the tension leak from his shoulders.  “Sorry, shit, I guess I’m spending too much time with Shane.”

Their laughter dies off slowly as they sip at their beers.  Rick is still thinking about Daryl, about light blue eyes and the way they tore so easily through Rick’s confident façade.  The cut on his thumb is small but it throbs painfully in time with his heartbeat, impossible to ignore.

“You’ve got the hots for him, don’t you?”

The question is not heavy with judgment or disbelief.  If anything, Andrea sounds a little too _happy_ about it, smile curled dangerously behind the rim of her beer. 

Rick’s sexuality has been up in the air ever since he and Shane kissed each other on a dare at one of their sleep overs.  He’s been open about it for at least two years now, so it’s not like he’s expecting disgust at the prospect of his feelings for a boy, but for the fact that his feelings are directed towards _Daryl Dixon_.

Sure, it’s normal for a person to find the boy attractive.  Girls drool over him just as often as they whisper about him, excited and afraid all at the same time. 

But for _Rick_ , a kid who tries his best to hang on to his morals and refuses to sleep with anyone who he isn’t emotionally involved with…well, it’s a little weird.

He feels sick with himself, terrified at the prospect of what his feelings could mean.  He’s been attracted to people before, sure, but never like _this_.  Even Lori struggled to make his blood run hot, and they dated for seven months.

“What am I supposed to _do_?” Rick groans, dropping his head against the table with a wooden ‘ _thump_.’

Andrea reaches over to pat his head, carding her fingers comfortingly through is curls while humming in thought.  “I think I have an idea.”

xxx

“I look—“

“ _Hot_ ,” Beth finishes for him, cocking her head to the side as she examines her handiwork in the mirror.  She has him fitted in his tightest jeans and a loose green sweater, and she’s currently holding a black beanie up to the outfit in contemplation.

Andrea’s “idea” is something as simple as attending one of Maggie Greene’s parties, one of those Occasions of the Century that Andrea is betting a million dollars on Daryl attending.

_“We’ll have Beth get you into something better than your ratty old get-up.”  Rick had tried to argue with her that his flannels and jeans were **not** ratty, but she spoke over him as if he were a ghost.  “Get a little alcohol in you, too, since you’re a lot weaker in the whole romance department than you like to think sometimes.  And then, assuming Daryl shows – which, I mean, **come on** – you’ll move your way as close as you can get.  I’m guessing your best bet would be a lot of skin-to-skin contact on the dance floor, but that’s subject to change…”_

Apart from being both insulted and horrified, there wasn’t much Rick could argue against.  He himself was clueless, and it wasn’t like he could have worked up the courage to even _consider_ such a thing if he didn’t have Andrea, and now Beth, pushing him to do so.

Beth eventually decides to scrap the beanie, claiming that it might be reaching a bit too far.  “Your wardrobe is atrocious,” she mumbles, kicking at the shirts she ripped out of his closet with a frown.  “We should take you shopping before the next party.  If you _really_ wanna impress a guy—“

“I don’t,” he rushes to clarify, perhaps a bit too harshly.  “I mean I-I just…I’m not trying to _impress_ anybody I just…”

Beth pats his shoulder sympathetically, biting down laughter at his expense.  “I’ll go get Andrea.”

She leaves his room quietly, shooting him one last look over her shoulder before closing the door behind her.

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as he falls back against his bed, casting his reflection a worried glance.

_Who am I kidding?  This whole **thing** is about impressing him._

xxx

Typical of every single one of Maggie’s parties, the large farmhouse is pulsing with light and music.  Rick can feel the bass vibrate through his shoes even as Shane pulls into the driveway, grumbling about crowded parking and quick getaways in case the cops come.

Beth, bless her soul, looks moments away from passing out.  “My daddy would kill us _both_ if he could see this now…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Andrea reassures her.  “I’ve never seen a better clean-up crew than Glenn and his nerd friends.”

Getting out of the car feels like a mistake to Rick.  He can’t shake the thought that if he really wants to find Daryl, if he wants to either woo him or just talk about what happened the other day, this party isn’t the place to do it.

While Rick isn’t as infamous as Shane for his party mishaps, he’s had a few slip-ups in the past, a handful of which almost got his parents involved (a particularly sour outcome considering the position his dad held as sheriff).

He’s about to voice his concerns quietly to Andrea when Shane bumps his elbow and nods towards the girls already heading inside. “Earth to Rick, you comin’ or what?”

“Uh…yeah, just…”

“Come on, man.  I hear Glenn hired a whole buncha strippers behind Maggie’s back.”  This, obviously, is either a blatant lie or a vague rumor.  Shane, being a better best friend to Rick than he is a person in general, has obviously caught on to his friend’s discomfort and is trying to make him feel better without prying.

Rick is thankful, even if his fingers are starting to shake and he can feel a strange heat prickling at the back of his neck.

“Alright, yeah, let’s do this.”

xxx

_What a lucky bitch._

Rick made a bit of a mess of himself during the first forty five minutes of the party, snatching a beer from Andrea’s hand the moment she guiltily told him that nobody had either heard of or seen Daryl’s appearance. 

Shane left his side almost immediately in a search for Lori and her friends, leaving Rick more or less alone with an excess amount of alcohol.  Andrea, for her part, had tried her best to help him out, but she was swept up in the tide of dancing bodies and he was far too preoccupied to care much about finding her.

Left to his own devices and embarrassed at his own naïve stupidity, it wasn’t long before Rick was stumbling around the Greene’s house like an idiot, slurring out positive responses to questions from blurry-faced strangers as they asked about his recent break-up with Lori.

The questions would have gotten on his nerves had he been sober, but he was blissed out on alcohol.  He probably would have kissed Lori, honestly, if she had come up to him and asked for it. Maybe even slept with her if she tried hard enough.

It wasn’t until a painfully sober Glenn Rhee (aka the world’s largest Stick in the Mud) came jogging over to him that Rick started to see things a bit more clearly.

“Hey, Rick!  _Whoa_ …dude, are you, like, _okay_?”    Rick, feeling quite the opposite of _okay_ , was just about to trip over his own feet when Glenn reached out and caught him. 

Younger than Rick by two years, Glenn is already pretty puny, a fact that becomes evident and worrisome when Rick leans the entirety of his weight on the smaller boy’s shoulder.  “Thanks – _hic_ – Glenn.  S’nice, didn’t have to.”

_Poor Glenn_ , Rick thinks, even as the younger boy starts dragging him towards the kitchen.  _Dating the world’s biggest partier and hating to do it himself.  Or maybe that’s not right.  Yeah, **lucky** Glenn.  Maggie is fucking hot and hey, at least he has a significant other.  At least he has a girl that isn’t like Daryl.  Stupid and confusing and just really fucking…_

The world is a bright mess of blurred music and color.  Rick is starting to recognize the beginnings of a headache when Glenn props him up against a wall and shouts something that sounds like “ _hey, this is a kitchen, not a brothel!_ ”

General nerdiness aside, it’s an odd thing for Glenn to say, and it makes Rick fairly curious.

Rick blinks and rubs at his forehead, straining to make sense of the fuzzy scene before him.

There’s the sound of a girl’s embarrassed squeal, followed by a shifting flash of pink and white as the owner of the scream turns to face Glenn. 

_“Just havin’ fun’s all.  Don’t need to get yer panties in a twist, Chinaman.”_

_That voice…_

“Fuck…”  Rick is barely able to get his bearings about himself, head swarming with too many confusing thoughts at once as he shoves away from the wall and stumbles his way towards the sink.  He thinks Glenn says something, maybe even tries to grab his shirt, but Rick avoids it all, and just in time to empty the contents of his stomach out into the sink.

There’s some more girlish squealing, making the sudden throb in Rick’s temples all the more painful.  He clings to the hard edges of the sink, tears trailing through the sweat on his cheeks.  He groans when someone calls out his name.

A hand curls around his shoulder, large and pressure-inflicting.  He thinks, even as he dry heaves and spit dribbles down his chin, that there will probably be a bruise there, made all the worse when the hand tightens its grip and pulls him suddenly backwards.

“Yer a damn mess, kid.”

The shiver that trickles down his spine is thick with nerves as he manages to realize that the hand grounding him like an anchor belongs to none other than _Daryl_.

Daryl, who was probably just making out with some pretty girl in the privacy of this kitchen.

_What a fucking lucky bitch…_

“Oh my _god_ ,” Rick cries, too drunk and sick to worry about hiding his embarrassment.  “W-where’s Glenn?”

Daryl is guiding him out of the kitchen and into the party crowd, fingers digging uncomfortably into his skin.  “Gettin’ you some water.  Now quit talkin’ ‘fore you make yourself throw up again.”

The crowd does not part easily, but Rick is thankful for the people who notice Daryl and immediately get out of the way.  He searches frantically for one of his friends, hoping to see Shane and Andrea, maybe even Beth, but none of them are in sight.

Even Maggie is gone, probably fighting off the advances of some handsy college boy.

“Up the stairs,” Daryl practically barks.  He sounds _angry_ , of all things. 

But that’s not right, because _Rick_ should be the angry one here.  He should be shaking Daryl away, pinning him up against the nearest wall and demanding to know why the other boy pulled such a gutsy move the other day.  He should brandish the bandage on his thumb with a shout before punching him in the face and leaving him behind for good, nothing but the dirt under his shoes.

Perhaps, if Rick were sober and brave.  Perhaps, if Rick wasn’t more intrigued than he was angry, he would try one of these things, but the truth is that he just _isn’t_. 

Some part of him, however quiet and small, _wants_ Daryl to push him up the stairs, wants to know what’s about to happen. 

And so, with Daryl impatiently shoving at him and then catching him when he starts to fall, Rick makes his way up the stairs, slurring out apologizes every time he bumps into someone.   He stops when he makes it to the top, leaning tiredly against the wall and blinking slowly as Daryl takes the lead.

Rick trips after him.

The Greene house is modest and traditional despite its size.  Rick knows the upper level by heart, well acquainted with the same surroundings that saw his first tentative attempts at childhood friendship.  He still remembers playing hide and seek with Maggie when they were just kids, enjoying himself despite the childish dislike of forced friendship through family connections.

When Daryl starts to lead him down the emptier end of the hallway, Rick feels a brief spark of panic.

Even when they were little, Maggie refused to let Rick enter her room.  “ _A girl’s room is for her eyes and her eyes only_ ,” she had scolded him after she found him trying to sneak his way in while she was in the bathroom.  Hastily, as an afterthought, she added “ _and her boyfriend’s_.”

Glenn assured Rick that her room held no particularly juicy secrets, but her insistence on keeping that part of her world private was still in full effect.

With any other person, sober or otherwise, Rick would voice his concerns.  But Daryl is currently grabbing his hand and tugging when Rick falls a bit too far behind for his liking.  His skin is rough and calloused, warm against Rick’s own.

It sets his head spinning, somehow, even faster. 

Daryl twists the knob and pushes the door open with his shoulder.

Rick’s breath catches in his throat, only to rush out in a gust when Maggie’s room turns out to be nothing more than simple shades of white and brown.  There are no posters or pictures, and the only books lining her shelves are of religious origin.

Daryl snorts and drops his hand.  “School’s biggest party girl, huh?”

Rick is about to say that he doesn’t understand it either when his stomach rolls and he has to keep his mouth shut for fear of puking again.

Even in the light of Maggie’s room, Daryl’s figure is blurred and misshapen, made worse the closer he is.

“C’mon, kid, lay down.”

An arm curls around his waist and Rick leans into the touch.  Daryl’s warmth is not like Shane’s, stern and stiff.  It is not like Lori’s, either, pure and comforting.  Rick’s whole body feels electrified by the contact, pulsing energy that he doesn’t actually have through his veins like caffeine.

But Daryl is neither wrapping him up in a friendly embrace nor pulling him close for intimate purposes.  No, he is merely keeping Rick on his feet as they maneuver awkwardly towards Maggie’s bed.

The mattress greets him beautifully, softer than his own and covered in pillows that hold the impressions of his hands when he grabs for them. 

_Girls are so lucky_ , he thinks.  _Especially the ones that get to kiss Daryl_.

The other boy has made his way back towards the doorway, leaning against the shadows of the party still raging out in the hallway.  “Glenn’s on his way with the water,” is all he says before disappearing back out into the crowd, probably to look for the girl that ran away from him after Rick nearly puked all over her.

Rick feels like crying.  His finger throbs and he wonders if Daryl noticed the bandage.

He falls asleep right as Glenn bursts into the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please, don't be afraid to tell me what i could do better! any bit of feedback you provide is appreciated!!


	3. You Came Crashing Through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dON'T KILL ME

Daryl Dixon has never been particularly fond of parties. 

Michonne is constantly mocking him for his anti-social tendencies, claiming that no sane seventeen-going-on-eighteen year old should be afraid of going to high school parties.  “ _I ain’t afraid_ ,” he’d say, gritting his teeth as she rolled her eyes at him.

His dislike for the general human population was only a small fraction of the problem. 

He hated the cheap alcohol and the shitty music.  The girls were always wasted and clingy, dragging him into abandoned corners for kisses that Daryl found himself dreading more than enjoying. 

He wouldn’t attend a single one if it weren’t for the escape it gave him from his father.  His brother, too, although it’s not like Merle’s ever out of prison enough for Daryl to worry about avoiding him, anyway.

This is why he’s thankful, in a way, for Maggie Greene’s parties.  Her house is large enough that Daryl can usually get away with hiding, sometimes even in her room when she’s drunk enough not to care. 

But tonight is different.

Tonight, some girl whose name he never cared to remember is trying to dance with him, following him into the kitchen when he doesn’t take the bait.  It’s not that she isn’t pretty, or even that she’s drunk, but he isn’t in the mood to pursue anything even remotely romantic.

All he wants is to get drunk off his ass and fall asleep on Maggie’s bed.

“Look,” he says, trying to push her away as gently as he can while she starts to crowd him against the counter.  “This ain’t gonna happen—“

“You fucked Sarah, so it’s only fair.”  She smiles sloppily at him, stumbling over her own feet and spilling beer down the front of his shirt.  She laughs and he has to close his eyes to keep from shouting.

“I have no idea who Sarah even _is_.”

His hands curl a little too tight around her shoulders, and this is where things start to get tricky.

_I knew I shouldn’t a come tonight, Jesus Christ._

Reaching up on her tip-toes, the girl presses her lips against his and breathes the taste of alcohol into his mouth, catching him by surprise and with his lips parted.

He tries to stop her, dropping a hand to her waist to nudge her away, but she takes it the wrong way and presses even closer.  She sets her cup on the counter behind them, ultimately toppling it over and sending it spilling across the linoleum.

_“Hey, this is a kitchen, not a brothel!”_

The girl jumps away from him with a scream, eyes wide with the vaguest hint of sobriety.  “Oh… _my god_ …I’m so--”

But Daryl isn’t paying attention anymore.

Glenn Rhee, with Rick Grimes’ arm wrapped around his shoulder, has just stepped into the kitchen.

Daryl swallows hard, suddenly not so worried about the girl still standing beside him.  “Just havin’ fun’s all.  Don’t need to get yer panties in a twist, Chinaman.”

It’s not what he means to say.  He _wasn’t_ having fun.

He watches, unable to keep himself from doing so, as Rick curses and trips towards the sink, forcing another squeal out of the girl next to Daryl as he flushes his system of the stupidity of too much alcohol.

“Grab a glass and get him some water from the bathroom,” Daryl snaps, shooting Glenn a narrow look.  “I’ll take him up to Maggie’s room.”

“I wasn’t the one who did this, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Glenn growls, but his worry for Rick ultimately trumps his disdain for Daryl.  “Just…take care of him.”

Daryl is already moving towards the other boy, dropping a hand to his shoulder and digging his fingers in a little too painfully in the attempt to keep him from passing out.  He tries calling Rick’s name, but the poor kid is too preoccupied with hanging onto the sink as if for dear life.

Daryl sighs.  “Yer a damn mess, kid.”

This seems to shock Rick.  His body freezes and his fingers curl even tighter around the metal of the sink.  He stands up to face Daryl with the look of somebody who’s just been to hell and back.  “Oh my _god_.”

Urging himself not to pay attention to the swirling mess of color that are Rick’s eyes, Daryl starts to guide the younger boy out of the kitchen. 

“W-where’s Glenn?”

“Gettin’ you some water.  Now quit talkin’ ‘fore you make yourself throw up again.”

It is in this precise moment, as people start to move out of the way to avoid Rick’s drunken wobbling, that Daryl notices the bandage wrapped around Rick’s thumb.

This sends a flare of something hot and uncomfortable firing through his gut. 

He remembers, in a bit of a haze, the taste of Rick’s flesh mixed with the taste of his blood.  Salt and metal.  The quiver of Rick’s whole body pressed against his tongue, tasting the pulse of him as simply as if he were making a wish on a weed.

Rick tries to stop, looking around in confusion.  Daryl shoves against him, not expecting the sudden stop and biting down hard on his tongue because of it.  “ _Up the stairs_ ,” he growls, unthinkingly.  His chest feels tight and his skin feels too small for his skeleton.  All his senses are suddenly assaulted by the smog of cigarette smoke and spilt alcohol, banishing any thoughts of the taste of Rick Grimes.

Without a second thought, he starts leading Rick towards Maggie’s room.  The oldest Greene girl usually hates having people in her room (minus Glenn, although god only knows what she saw in him), but Daryl has been on her good side since an incident in middle school that both of them are too proud to talk about.

Besides, it’s not like she’ll get _mad_ at him for dropping Rick off in her bedroom.  Hell, it’s probably the nicest thing he’s ever done in his whole life, and fuck if that doesn’t make him want to punch a wall for no reason at all.

Rick’s eyes widen to the size of small moons the moment Daryl opens the door.  He falters in the doorway, refusing to move until Daryl nods at him to make use of the bed.  “School’s biggest party girl, huh?” he muses, fighting to keep the disbelief out of his voice as his body acts before his brain and starts to help Rick sit down.  “C’mon, kid, lay down.”

Falling onto the mattress with a groan, Rick immediately makes himself comfortable and curls his body around the vast array of Maggie’s pillows.

The image he makes is endearing in a way that makes Daryl feel irrational, so he grumbles something about Glenn bringing water before walking out of the room with his thumb and forefinger pressed on either side of his nose.

_What the hell are you doing here, Dixon?_

“Where the _fuck_ is Rick?”

Daryl doesn’t have to look up to know that the girl barreling down the hallway towards him is Andrea.  He has come to blows more than once with her anger and knows the sound of her shout as well as he knows to avoid her when she gets herself worked up.

“Maybe you shoulda kept an eye on ‘im.” 

“You stupid bastard, I’ll _kill_ you—“

“How drunk _are_ you, anyway?”

She stops in front of him with a few angry huffs.  Her hair is in wild disarray and the light layer of lipstick she usually wears has been smudged across her cheeks.  She has the presence of mind to look guilty, but the feeling fades as she tries to push pass Daryl.

Too tired to get into a fight, Daryl pushes her back, forcing himself to keep eye-contact.  “You really think yer in a state to help him?”

Andrea knows the answer, it’s written clear across her face, but she’s always been stubborn.  “Well _you’re_ hardly any better than I am!”

“Never said I was, which is why I have Glenn comin’ up to get him right again.  Now, if you’ll _get out of my way_ —“

“Wait a minute!”  Andrea wraps her fingers around Daryl’s jacket, tugging weakly on the black leather.  “You…you really asked Glenn for help?  That’s…really responsible, shit.  And here I was thinking you…”  She catches herself on the glare Daryl gives her, narrowing her eyes in turn and dropping her hand.  “Whatever, it doesn’t matter, but…thank you.”

Daryl snorts.  “Just don’t expect it to happen ever again.”

xxx

Daryl lets himself drink.

He grabs as many beers as he can carry and strides towards the back door.  The air is cold, even for March, but he’s too proud to go back inside, so he settles for pulling his jacket tighter around his arms as he plops down in one of the Greene’s pool chairs.

He drinks without thinking, staring at the sky to keep himself preoccupied while knocking back the same cheap shit that fucks him up every time he tries to relax at home.

The beer is so cold that he eventually gives himself a headache.  He stops after four and kicks the empty bottles out of his sight, watching them roll across the concrete with a blank sort of interest.

When was the last time he thought about someone as much as he’s thought about Rick?

Probably Michonne, before she opened her fat mouth and made him cringe with uneasiness at the bluntness of her character.  Even he wasn’t so forward as to tell another human being upon their first meeting that they looked like they needed a good fuck and a trip to the hospital.

And even then, he hadn’t really thought about her _sexually_.

Daryl isn’t into labels, but it’s not like he gives a fuck either way.  He’ll never openly admit to liking dick, but he certainly isn’t opposed to it and has made that clear on multiple occasions with other men.

_Daddy didn’t raise no fags_.  His brother’s voice slips through his thoughts.  The sound of it makes him so itchy that he can’t help himself from grabbing another beer.

Rick became a problem all the way back in middle school, when he offered to be Daryl’s partner on a science project that nobody else wanted to do with him.

The moment was so simple that Rick has most likely forgotten about it.  But for Daryl, someone who has almost always been infamous for his lonelier tendencies, it struck him as the oddest thing he’d ever witnessed.

They never went along with it, mostly because Daryl ended up missing that whole week after an incident with his father, but the fact that it _almost_ did bothered Daryl endlessly.

It never happened again, and Daryl never really _wanted_ it to, but he often found himself looking for Rick every time they were assigned another project.  He watched Rick run off with his actual friends and struggled to pinpoint exactly what it was the simmered in his gut every time the other boy ignored him without a second thought.

It’s been years since then.  Daryl doesn’t look to Rick in class anymore (on the rare occasion that he actually _shows up_ ) and Rick doesn’t even so much as cast him a glance unless it’s on accident.

Daryl hasn’t thought about him much, minus a few drunken moments of nostalgia and muddled thoughts.

And then _yesterday_ happened.

Daryl had been in a particularly good mood after a blow job behind the school that _wasn’t_ awful, and he was so absorbed in the white bliss of a mind blowing orgasm that he wasn’t even thinking about the very real possibility of running into somebody else.

Rick came out of nowhere, running straight into his chest like his eyes were closed and he was taking his steps without caution.

Any other day and Daryl would have rolled his eyes and walked away, but he was loose and his thoughts were sloppy.  He wasn’t even thinking when he called the kid _Officer Friendly_ , dragging the old nickname out from its grave in the past. 

And Rick, with his wide eyes and bloody fingers, had looked so _small_ in that moment.  He shrunk so deeply within himself that Daryl could see the hunched folds of his shirt.  Daryl sucked smoke into his lungs and thought, wildly, that Rick looked _good_.

He thought about the blood swept across Rick’s teeth and the strength of his flesh, whether or not it would break under the blunt points of Daryl’s nails.  The way in which he held himself was almost infuriating in its perfection. 

Daryl let Rick use his lighter because he wanted to watch the burn of nicotine as it made its way into Rick’s lungs.  A killer, a _murderer_ , and Rick Grimes, of all people, was inhaling it with earnest.

They could have kissed right then and there.  Daryl contemplated it, contemplated the rosy flush of Rick’s lips from biting down on his finger.  The blood on his teeth was gone but it was still all Daryl could think about.

Kissing, perhaps, was a bit too drastic.  Rick was still the kid with the flannel button-downs and a solid set of morals, just as Daryl was still the boy with a bad reputation and an awful attitude towards life in general.

So Daryl did the next best thing.

The way in which Rick reacted to Daryl’s mouth around his finger was a scene pretty enough for a painter to reinterpret with only the most enthusiastic intricacy. 

His lips parted, revealing the pink slip of his tongue as Daryl curled his own around the cut on Rick’s thumb. 

A shiver ripped through his bones, an earthquake in his veins even as he pulled away from the taste of salt and copper. 

Shock at his own actions kept the rest of their meeting short.  Daryl refused to look at his reflection in the mirror that night, terrified of what he would see. 

Terrified of what _Rick_ saw.

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking about it now, or why he thought about it at all after it happened.  The action wasn’t exactly atypical as far as Daryl’s past went.  He’s kissed random girls on nothing more than a whim and he’s punched strangers out of self-resentment.

Sucking on Rick’s finger was tame, really, but it still sits with him like the heavy weight of something dangerous.

The taste of him, of sweat and blood, sticks to the back of Daryl’s throat.

He’s so lost in these thoughts that he doesn’t notice the arrival of another person to his party of one. 

He looks up just in time to see Beth Greene’s slack jaw and red cheeks, embarrassed at having been caught by the way Daryl looks her up and down unabashedly.  “S-sorry, I was just tryin’a get away from the party.”

Daryl has half a mind to tell her to fuck right off, but even he can’t see himself hurting her feelings.  He doesn’t know much about the youngest Greene sister, apart from her relation to Maggie and the differences between them, but she looks so much like a lost puppy that Daryl would probably hate himself more than he already does if he ever hurt her.

“Whatever,” he grumbles, taking another greedy sip of beer and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. 

Beth hesitates for a moment, the reflection of party lights bouncing off the shine of her hair.  Daryl watches from the corner of his eye as she carefully takes the seat closest to the house, shyly casting her gaze in his direction.

To him, the Greene sisters are pretty, but their physical attractiveness more or less ends there.  He finds their gentle way of smiling and speaking to be sweet, if not a bit nauseating.  They aren’t his type and that’s the end of it.

Except for now.

Because _now_ he’s drunk and he wants to stop thinking about Rick.  He wants to wash the salt of sweat out of his mouth with the taste of a girl, saccharine and simple.

And so, with the finality of one last semi-sober thought, Daryl kicks out of his chair and makes his way purposefully towards Beth.

Her eyes widen the closer he gets.  He wonders only briefly if she has ever even _kissed_ another person before bending over and settling a hand on the soft curve of her cheek.

(He thinks, with a shiver of self-disgust, that Rick’s skin here would feel different, rough with stubble.)

Beth tries to say something, her lips parted in conflict, but the words are swallowed down by the insatiable force of Daryl’s tongue.

xxx

Rick wakes up with a groan, feeling his stomach lurch as a hand roughly shakes him out of the dark comfort of sleep.

“Rick, man, come on.  You gotta drink something.”

Through blurry eyes, Rick watches as Glenn tries to hand him a glass of water and a handful of pills, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as he looks anxiously over his shoulder at the open door.

“ _Mmmrmm_ ,” is the most intelligent sound Rick can muster.  He buries his head back in Maggie’s pillows.

“Rick, come _on_.”

Glenn is a bit more forceful this time, gripping Rick by the back of his shirt and tugging.  The pills bounce against the blanket as he struggles to move Rick and hold the glass of water at the same time.  “ _Shit_.”

“ _Okay_ , alright, fuck you.”  Rolling out of bed sends a sharp sear of pain through his skull, starting in his temples and racing through his bloodstream like the ache of exhaustion.  He grabs blindly for the glass of water, free hand skating across the blanket in search of whatever medicine Glenn was nice enough to bring him.  “Thank you, I mean.”  He swallows down as much of the water as he can handle.  “Thank you.”

“Yeah, whatever, let’s just get you out of here.  Maggie’s weird about her room.”

The thought of going back out into the party makes Rick’s head throb, and Glenn seems to notice his discomfort.  “You can go outside if you need to take a breather.  Nobody’s out back since the pool isn’t open.”

Glenn helps him up, smiling a bit stiffly when Rick winces.  “I’ll help you down the stairs, man, come on.”

With Glenn’s hand hovering unsurely over Rick’s shoulder, he manages to make it down the stairs in one piece.  Andrea, just as drunk as he is but lacking the rest he got, runs up to him and throws her arms around him in a clumsy embrace.

“I shoulda…should have tried to keep my eyes on you… _better_ …”  Her eyes narrow in confusion as she looks from Rick to Glenn.  “You alright?”

As if in response to her question, Rick’s stomach lurches with nausea.  “Yeah, just…need some fresh air is all.”

“ _Oh_.”

He pulls away from her easily, making Glenn promise to keep an eye on her for him and heading for the back door.

Flicking the outside light on, Rick grits his teeth to fight his headache as he drags the door open.

The sight before him is warped by his inebriation, but the image of two people kissing is so familiar to him that he doesn’t have to see it well to know what’s happening.  He smiles as he steps out into the cool night air.  There may be people making out next to the pool, but at least it’s quiet.  His head already feels a million times better.

“Don’t mind me,” he announces, grinning as the couple pulls apart with a series of hushed curses and drunken shouts. 

The sensation of horror that creeps up his spine in time with the clarity seeping through his thoughts is terrible.  It freezes his blood and locks his muscles in place, until all he can do is _think_ about moving, about turning his back on the pitiful scene before him.

Beth’s hair is bright yellow in the lamplight.  Her eyes are wide with guilt and lust, her pupils blown deep in a way that would make him feel uncomfortable if things about this moment were different.

Daryl is smiling, all sparkling teeth and unbuttoned shirts, his legs splayed slack and lazy on either side of the chair. 

Beth tries to say something, scrambling to her feet properly and reaching out for him.  The sound of her voice shakes Rick out of his trance.  “Rick, _please_ it’s not—“

Rick, perhaps a bit childishly, brings his hands up to his ears as he turns back towards the house, biting back the pain of unshed tears and trying his hardest to blink away the image of Daryl and Beth.

He runs back into the house and Beth does not try to follow.

For that, at least, he is thankful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please, don't be afraid to tell me what i could do better! any bit of feedback you provide is appreciated!!


	4. The Devil Is Sweet on You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blowjobs behind the school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take this chapter as an apology for the bethyl kiss 

Wednesday evening sees Rick sitting with his back to the wall of his school, his sixth cigarette in the past two hours caught between his teeth.  He feels miserable, exhausted from getting yelled at by teachers who were disappointed in his recent lack of studious effort, only to have the same anger thrown at him by his parents after a call from the school. 

Much to the disapproval of everyone he knew, Rick ended up with a Saturday afternoon detention after getting caught smoking in the bathroom.

Getting out of his house had been a sheer miracle, made possible by the tree positioned close to his window. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, signaling a text that he’s ultimately going to ignore anyway.  It shakes him out of his miserable funk, though; long enough to cast the cigarette a disgusted glance before stubbing it out in the dirt.

Beth has been avoiding him since the party.  She doesn’t sit with him at lunch anymore, choosing instead to sit with a group of friends that nobody ever knew she even had.  They don’t have any classes together other than gym, but the past three days she’s feigned headaches and has refused to dress.  While Rick participated in the class, she sat in the corner of the gymnasium and watched.

It’s ridiculous and irresponsible, he thinks.  And Maggie is furious about it, demanding to know from everyone in their immediate circle of friends why her sister refuses to so much at look at her in school anymore.

Rick feigns ignorance. 

He hasn’t told anyone else about what he saw that night, half-convinced that it was all just a figment of his intoxicated imagination. 

Daryl, for his part, shows up to school about as often as he does usually, which his hardly at all.  Every day, Rick has at least two classes with the other boy, but he’s only seen him once over the past three days.

He rejects the idea of disappointment.  No, he doesn’t care _at all_ that Daryl came into his life just as quickly as he left it.

The cut on his finger is nothing more than a rough patch of dry skin.  Scolding himself for picking at it might as well have become a hobby.

Sighing heavily, he decides that the best and only decision for him right now would be to head back home.  Despite having no drive to actually _do_ it, he has a mountain of homework at home.

He wonders, not for the first time, why seeing Beth and Daryl like they were has made him so upset.  It’s not like Beth wasn’t a good person.  She knew how Rick felt about Daryl and probably never meant anything by it.  Daryl had an effect on people that made him irresistible.

Maybe, he thinks, he’s more disappointed with _himself_.

For getting wasted at Maggie’s party, for getting in a shouting match with Andrea the following morning like it was somehow her fault, for dragging his friends into it in the first place, and for having any interest in pursuing the static electricity that he felt thrumming in his veins every time he so much as thought about the look in Daryl’s eyes when he wrapped his lips around Rick’s finger.

He’s even mad at himself for being upset with Beth.

_I’ll apologize tomorrow_ , he concludes.  _And I’ll let Beth know that she’s got no reason to feel guilty.  I’m over the whole thing anyway._

As he stands up, his phone vibrates again.  He pulls it out of his pocket, surprised and a bit pleased to see three messages from Andrea.

**From Andrea:) at 7:45 PM** _: are u ever going to tell me what happened at the party???_

**From Andrea:) at 7:46 PM** : _do I seriously have to wait for u to get over your little hissy fit before we talk about this??  beth is really upset and she won’t tell anybody why but I know it has to do with you and that party_

**From Andrea:) at 7:59 PM** :  _we’re all meeting up in the courtyard before classes tomorrow to talk.  bring donuts or I’ll never forgive u for yelling at me xx_

Rick can’t stop himself from smiling.

Feeling a little better about himself, he starts typing at the keyboard as he walks away.

This time, when he collides with the solid presence of another human body, his shoulders are grabbed roughly and he’s being thrown against the wall.  His phone falls out of his hand, skidding across hard gravel with the rough grind of ruined glass.

“What the _fuck_?”

He looks up and it’s _Daryl_.

_Daryl_ , leaning over him with his palms pressing Rick flat against grainy brick.  _Daryl_ , glaring down at him like _he_ has any right to be angry.  Daryl.  It’s always _Daryl_.

“Get your hands off me,” Rick growls.

Intimidation, it seems, is not his strong suit, because all his demand earns him is a jagged smile. 

“Somebody tug too hard on yer ponytails, or are ya just bein’ a bitch for the sake of _bein’ a bitch_?”  Daryl leans closer as he says this, slurring his words in a way that is not induced by either drugs or alcohol, but by something nameless that makes Rick feel the ultimately useless need to squirm.

Rick wants to punch him, wants to dig his fist into the soft flesh of Daryl’s cheek hard enough to leave a bruise that stays with him for months.  Rick wants to grab him by the front of his jacket and…and…he wants to…

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Rick spits, grappling pathetically with his own thoughts while Daryl’s thick fingers curl harder into the more sensitive points of his shoulder blades.

Something shifts in Daryl’s gaze, like the switch from black to white.  His smile falls and Rick doesn’t know why, but it makes his stomach tighten with a confused warmth.

“Is that what you want?”

The words are surprisingly clear.  Daryl’s thick drawl, while not absent, is smoother than Rick can ever remember it being.

“We could do it, right now, y’know that?  I’d let ya.”

A thick, hot slide of arousal drips down Rick’s spine.  He isn’t used to it, doesn’t know what to _do_ with it. 

With Lori, it was never this simple.  Half the time, Lori would get so upset with his lack of response that they never made it past kissing.  Even when they _did_ make it to substantial acts of romance, it was never like _this_.

And Rick knows absolutely nothing about Daryl.  It’s not like with Lori, who he knew enough about to love.  They never kissed with the kind of dirty fireworks that threaten to tear through Rick’s confidence as he focuses, pathetically, on the rosy flush of Daryl’s bottom lip.

The kiss that follows his thoughts is rough. 

Rick’s head smacks against brick as Daryl tears him apart with chapped lips.  Their teeth clash as Daryl pushes his tongue past the seam of Rick’s mouth, kissing him with a feral ferocity that Rick is frustrated enough to return as skillfully as he can manage.

Impossibly, Daryl’s hands are everywhere all at once.  On his shoulders, tugging at his hair, shoving at his hips.  Rick lets out a particularly embarrassing groan when Daryl’s hands reach the curve of his ass, accidentally pulling their mouths apart as fingers dig almost painfully into the soft flesh.

Undeterred by the split of their mouths, Daryl drags his lips down Rick’s jaw and sucks a mark against his neck, spilling red and purple against his skin with the ease of somebody who just doesn’t _care_. 

But Rick won’t complain, not now, because he’s too busy fighting the jitter of his hips to worry about explaining to his friends and family where the hickey came from. 

The drag of Daryl’s tongue is a drug, scraping across his flesh in time with the bite of his teeth.  “Want me to such ya off?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Rick pants, breathless and lost.  “Yeah, _shit_ , yeah.”

He doesn’t give it a second thought, doesn’t even try to contemplate the smooth quickness with which Daryl falls to his knees.  Like he’s done it a hundred times before and has no shame, like he doesn’t care all that hard gravel is probably digging uncomfortably into his knees. 

All Rick can think about is how good it felt to have Daryl’s mouth wrapped around his finger.  The teasing, careful swipe of his tongue, like he had no idea that what he was doing was good enough to drive a man mad with want.  To imagine that on his _dick_ …

It’s an effort just to breathe.

His pants are being pulled down to his ankles before he can blink, and then it’s just Daryl and his _dick_ , however covered by the thin fabric of his boxer shorts as it may be.

Rick doesn’t know if he should feel nervous or impatient.

Daryl smiles up at him, eyes never leaving Rick’s as he wraps his hands around Rick’s hips and drags his lips along the outline of Rick’s cock.  The material of his boxers catches obscenely on Daryl’s tongue, sticking moist and dirty to his mouth.

“Do it,” Rick huffs, scratching his nails against the grit of the wall behind him.  “Fucking, just… _fuck_ …”

With a snort, a puff of hot breath against Rick’s thigh, Daryl tugs at Rick’s boxers until his dick is hanging heavy and hard over his boxers.

A calloused palm curls around the length of him, sliding over sensitive flesh with a confidence that Rick thinks only briefly is too experienced not to be suspicious.

All thoughts are obliterated, however, when Daryl sucks the tip of Rick into his mouth, swiping his tongue skillfully in time with the movement of his hand at the base.

A million curses, mixed and unreal, zip through Rick’s brain.  His fingers graze so hard against the wall that he’s certain he’s drawn blood, but he’s too afraid of Daryl’s reaction to grab for his hair, no matter how _badly_ he wants to.

Rick’s jaw falls slack as Daryl pulls even more of him into his mouth, his lips slipping wetly around Rick’s length.  Words, dozens of them, fight for purchase against his tongue, but none of them make it out in the series of breathy shutters that threaten to choke him.

Daryl moans around him, eyes fluttering shut as he focuses solely on the task at hand.

He sucks and licks like he was born to do it, all the while pressing his free hand against the bulge between his thighs.  Rick wants to take a picture for the sake of proving himself wrong when he wakes up tomorrow swearing up and down that this whole thing had been a dream.

A very _vivid_ dream.

It’s almost over too soon.

Rick feels himself tripping, stumbling blindly towards that edge. 

“D-Daryl,” he warns, cheeks flushing red with embarrassment as Daryl looks up at him smugly.  “Daryl, I’m gonna—“

One last, hard suck and Rick’s orgasm is ripping through him.

Daryl doesn’t pull back, but Rick is too busy choking back a scream to care.  The sight of Daryl on his knees explodes behind his closed lids, shattering like glass and becoming the white bursts of dying stars.

His legs give way beneath him.  Daryl doesn’t try to stop him as he slides down the wall, ass meeting hard earth with a soft groan of discomfort.

Opening his eyes is a mistake.

Daryl seems to have caught most of Rick in his mouth, but what he couldn’t control is currently disappearing against his tongue.  He licks so nonchalantly at the seam of lips that Rick finds himself questioning whether or not that’s a normal thing to actually _do_.  Lori sure as hell never did it.

Rick is trying to make eye-contact when Daryl refuses to look at him and stands up quickly, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and checking it with a frown.  There’s no way to miss that obvious bulge at the front of his jeans, and if Rick weren’t so spent already he thinks he’d be hard all over again.

“Hey, Daryl, let me—“

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Daryl snaps, shooting Rick a narrowed glance that is nothing but unreadable. 

“But…”  He trails off, unsure of what to say.  He feels too tired to argue, too tired to feel guilty about skipping the part of this where he reciprocates the action with earnest. 

“I gotta go,” Daryl huffs, glaring angrily at the wall above Rick’s head.

_What the hell is he mad about now?_

Figuring it must be something family-related, if the way Daryl keeps shaking his head at his phone is any indication, Rick shakes off the insult of Daryl’s emotional stiltedness and cracks a nervous smile.  “See you in school, then?”

The question must come off as a joke to Daryl, because his first response is a short bark of laughter that ends in a cat’s smile as he tips his head to the side and fixes Rick with an expression mixed somewhere between amusement and anger.

Rick’s stomach plummets. 

But if Daryl has anything snotty to say, the buzz of his phone shuts him up.  He pulls back with parted lips, interrupted in the middle of a thought that Rick feels lucky not to have heard spoken out loud.

Daryl doesn’t say goodbye.

He turns around fast on his heel, bringing his phone up to his ear and barking out a heated ‘ _what?’_

Rick doesn’t remember much about the party, but he swears to god he remembers Daryl dragging him away from the light and the noise, taking him somewhere safe.  He remembers the phantom press of Daryl’s hands against his shoulders, how the touch felt so similar to the heel of Daryl’s palms shoving him back against the wall just moments ago.

Glenn had denied it, claiming that he was the only one sober enough to notice Rick’s descent into drunken misery.  Rick had believed him, honestly convinced that the alcohol made him delusional enough to imagine Daryl Dixon’s shadowy form in the light of the doorway before he disappeared back out into the party.

And now, with bloody fingers and a sinking ship where his heart should be, Rick is convinced that Glenn was right.

Daryl Dixon likes to hurt people.

If Rick didn’t know that before, if there was any doubt _at all_ …

Well, it’s gone now.

xxx

**From Merle at 8:01 PM** : _guess whos on his way home little brother?_

**From Merle at 8:10 PM** : _ill give u a hint: it’s me_

**From Merle at 8:13 PM** : _u didn’t erase this # already did u?_

**From Merle at 8:15 PM** : _come on man don’t make me take on big ol daddy all by myself_

**Call from** : _Merle_

“ _What_?”  It takes everything Daryl has inside of him not to ignore the call, not to throw his phone on the ground and stomp on it hard enough that the glass shatters and pierces through the soles of his shoes.

Merle’s low, lazy laughter filters through the speaker.  “Did I in’errupt one of yer hook-ups again, baby brother?  Ya sound tenser ‘an usual.”

“Maybe ‘cause my jackass of a brother—“

“Watch yer tongue, boy.  Daddy didn’t raise no sailor.”

Daryl stops at his bike, resting his hip against it as he smiles unwillingly at his older brother’s terrible attempt at humor.  Almost at the same time, the two of them break out into laughter, the fuzzy sound of Merle’s chuckles making Daryl feel oddly at peace.

“Missed you, man.”  Daryl is not an emotional person (no matter how intensely Michonne might argue otherwise), but he kind of can’t help himself when it comes to Merle.  His older brother was the one who took the worst of their dad’s anger, always pushing Daryl out of the way and taking the blame for his little brother’s mishaps.

It wasn’t until Daryl got a little older that Merle started to lose track of his responsibilities and _Daryl_ was the one with the scars to show for it.

Daryl didn’t mind, though, not really.

He’ll swear up and down that he hates his brother, especially on the nights when Daryl has to drag himself out of bed to go get the older boy.  He’ll hiss and he’ll spit at anyone willing to listen (either Michonne or one of the many drunk girls who’s slept with him under the impression that hearing about his brother somehow made what they had _special_ ), never saying _why_ but swearing that it was true, that he was done with his brother for good.  Throw the trash away and let the rabid dog starve itself to death.

But that was never how it _really_ went.

Merle was the only part of his legitimate bloodline that gave a shit about him, anyway.  Their mother was dead and their father was a deadbeat alcoholic, and any family beyond that point had never been a part of their lives to begin with.

Merle is all Daryl’s got, really.

So he doesn’t hesitate to leave, doesn’t look over his shoulder to see if Rick is coming after him.

Merle is worth it, Rick isn’t.

End of story.


	5. We End And Begin In Different Places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know what to say, really :/ i've been on vacation and as for the length of this chapter, i just haven't had it in me to make it any longer. i'm also posting it without doing anything but a quick scan on word, so don't be surprised if i end up changing things around;P
> 
> i apologize for the wait and i hope you like this chapter, regardless of how short it may be

Daryl has some pretty strict rules when it comes to boys.

One of which, of course, is never to go back for seconds.

There haven’t been _many_ hook-ups, at least not when you compare them to the times he’s fucked around with girls, but every single one of them has been expertly hidden.  And he always makes sure to swear, usually on his friends’ lives, that he’ll never go back for more.

But _Rick Grimes_ is…

A problem.

It’s not that sucking Rick off had been a particularly _fantastic_ experience.  It was _boring_ , in fact.  Predictable and even a little pathetic.  Rick had come apart like a fifteen year old virgin, all pathetic whimpers and quivering hips.

Daryl would have laughed at him if Merle hadn’t interrupted.

That was the problem, though.

Typically, Daryl found virgin behavior to be repetitive and boring.  He liked a good fuck, a hard romp in the sheets that left him bruised and even a little bloody.  He liked nails down his back while he pulled at their hair.

People like Rick Grimes, who knew nothing other than mediocre sex with girls, made Daryl snort and roll his eyes.

And this whole situation is making him question everything he’s ever known about himself.

The way he sees it, there’s really only one way to clear things up.

All he has to do is fuck Rick right out of his system.

xxx

There is nothing (save for his father, perhaps) that Daryl hates more than school.

He hates having to pay attention to pointless lectures.  He hates having to shove his way through a hallway crowded exclusively with inconsiderate assholes.  He hates having to sit in the principal’s office with a smile on his face, avoiding trouble like he always does with a bit of strained charm.

His only saving grace amongst the chaos is Michonne. 

“You look like you haven’t been sleeping,” she currently muses, watching him dig halfheartedly through his locker for his science textbook.  “At least, sleeping less than _usual_.”

He shrugs.  “Just ain’t tired.”

“Bullshit.”

Daryl slams his locker shut with the heel of his boot.  He’s about to snap at her with about as much humor as he can muster this early in the morning when he catches sight of Rick and his posse of hippy do-gooders over her shoulder.

Rick is laughing at something Beth said, his arm slung casually over her shoulders.  She seems a bit tense but is smiling nonetheless, and the sight of her happiness makes something uncomfortable knot itself miserably in Daryl’s gut.

Before Rick can catch him staring, Daryl looks back to Michonne.  “Bullshit, yeah, yer right.”

That’s all he says before storming off, ignoring the sound of his friend’s knowing sigh as he disappears around the corner.

xxx

Second period is the only class Daryl can ever remember having had with Rick, although he’s sure there are more that he either hasn’t the patience to attend or pay attention to.

So he waits outside of their Pre-Calculus class, shooting an angry snarl at anybody who passes by him with a glance that lasts too long.

Rick is a mess when he finally shows up, beanie sliding away from his curls as he fumbles with a handful of pens and a torn folder.  Papers are flying away from him and landing in piles at his feet, going ignored by his fellow classmates as they sprint by him in an attempt to beat the bell.

This only makes Daryl about a thousand times angrier than he already is.

He kicks away from the wall with a particularly nasty glare at one of his peers and falls immediately to Rick’s feet, shuffling the loose sheets of paper into a haphazard pile and handing them up to Rick with a strained grin.

The look of pure terror on Rick’s face is almost picture-worthy.

“Take the damn papers, Grimes,” Daryl huffs.  He stands back up and wipes pointedly at the knees of his jeans. 

For what it’s worth, Rick takes the papers, but he tries to run the moment he has them back in his possession. 

“ _Not so fast_.”  Daryl wraps his arm around Rick’s waist and starts pulling him back towards the empty hallway, ignoring the strange glances they receive from the few students still left behind.

The bell rings and Rick gasps.  “Hey, I have to—“

“No, you really don’t.  C’mon.”

Rick, while not exactly weak, is nowhere near as strong as Daryl, and can do nothing but make himself comfortable as Daryl drags him towards the nearest bathroom.

“D-Daryl I get that you’re mad but this _isn’t_ —“

Daryl shoves him into the bathroom, casting a cautious look over his shoulder before following behind the other boy. 

Rick stays pressed against the wall, eyes cast down as Daryl walks past the row of stalls, checking each one for occupancy and smiling in satisfaction when all of them are empty.

“If you’re gonna punch me—“

Daryl lets out a sharp bark of laughter before pressing forward and roughly curling his fingers under Rick’s chin.  “Yer a fuckin’ idiot, ya know that?”

It takes a moment, but eventually Rick’s eyes widen in understanding.  “ _Oh_ …”

Daryl shuts him up good and proper with the bruise of his mouth.

Things are hesitant at first, much to Daryl’s chagrin.  He growls impatiently and grabs violently at a clump of Rick’s hair.  Their teeth knock and their tongues tangle sloppily.  Daryl presses his hips against Rick’s, smiling in contentment when Rick whimpers into the kiss.  His books fall haphazardly across the dirty tile of the boy’s bathroom.  His hands settle shakily on Daryl’s waist.

Arousal shoots through Daryl’s body like a spectacular display of fireworks, forcing a quiver into his fingers as he presses them against the wall, trapping Rick with the wall of his arms.

He groans, low and embarrassingly desperate, when Rick starts to rock his hips with earnest.  The other boy is already perfectly hard in his jeans and Daryl is following right behind him, his paints tightening around his waist as he kisses Rick with everything he has.

He catches Rick’s lower lip between his teeth and tugs gently, relishing in the shaky sigh that it pulls from Rick’s lungs. 

“W-we’re gonna get… _caught_ ,” Rick pants.  Despite his fear, he wraps his hand around the back of Daryl’s neck and pulls him back in for another kiss.

“They won’t,” Daryl reassures him.  “’Sides, I’ll kill anyone who says somethin’ ‘bout it.”

“Oh my _god_!”

Rick surprises Daryl by grabbing his shoulders and violently switching their positions, latching onto Daryl’s neck with a slightly more skilled enthusiasm than his blow job proved to express.

“Want you to teach me,” he whispers, dragging his lips up to Daryl’s ear.  “Teach me everythin’, Daryl, _please_.”

The furious desperation in his voice makes Daryl’s head spin.  It makes him nervous, in a way, to realize that he’s never had anybody so eager to learn and impress, somebody so pliable under his hands.

With every boy he’s ever been with, it was quick and sloppy and always ended without the promise of more.  They used Daryl just as easily as Daryl used them.

Daryl never thought, not in a million years, that he’d end up on the end of a boy who might actually _care_ about him.

And to be honest, it scares the shit out of him.

So instead of tipping his head back and waiting for Rick’s tongue, promising him to show him everything he knew and _more_ , Daryl shoves him away, closing his eyes and sucking in sharp lungfuls of air.

“You’re in over yer head, kid.”

Rick looks shocked for a moment, but it melts quickly into blatant offense.

He makes quite the picture.  His beanie has fallen off to reveal a mess of tangled curls.  His lips, freshly kissed and bitten, are flushed the prettiest shade of red, and his pupils are blown wide with the last remaining shreds of humiliatingly hopeful lust.

“Don’t call me _kid_ ,” he growls, bending down to pick up his hat and adjusting it haphazardly back atop his curls.  “We’re the _same fucking age_ , last I checked.”

His aggression surprises Daryl, although not in a way that makes him feel angry, himself.  It surprises him in a _good_ way, in fact.

“Does it really bug ya that much, _kid_?”

Rick’s eyes narrow, a flash of fire, before he shoves Daryl back up against the wall.  His fingers dig painfully into Daryl’s flesh, no doubt leaving an array of crescent moons embedded into the skin.

Daryl likes the pain, almost wants to beg for more just be a masochistic piece of shit like he’s always been.

The anger in Rick’s eyes diminishes when Daryl doesn’t try to fight back.  “Why can’t I stop?”

Daryl doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

At least, not until Rick is dipping down and dragging his lips across Daryl’s jaw.

Because Daryl has already asked himself the same question at least a hundred times.

xxx

Daryl is standing in front of his mirror, grumbling under his breath as he runs a finger over the bruise on his neck.  Michonne catches his eye and raises her eyebrows expectantly.  “Got somethin’ you wanna tell me, Dixon?”

“Not really.”  He pulls his t-shirt as far up as it will go, straining the fabric around his collarbone and holding it there with a deflated sigh.  “Just another hook-up, s’all.”

Tipping her head to the side, Michonne narrows her eyes and looks him up and down.  “I’d believe you if it weren’t for the fact that you usually take a knife to anybody who tries to leave a mark where other people can see.”

There had been a moment, back in the bathroom, where Daryl had to ask himself why he _wasn’t_ threatening Rick’s life.  They had stumbled blindly into the nearest stall, Daryl promising to keep an ear open for approaching students, when Rick possessively latched on to his neck.  It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, having somebody’s mouth so close to his pulse.  Just like Michonne said, he usually would have taken a pocket knife to the person’s jugular who so much as tried to get _their_ lips near his neck like that.

He hadn’t even thought about it with Rick.  At least, not until the damage was done and Daryl had already embarrassed himself with a few low groans, the vibrations pressed against Rick’s palm as he struggled to keep him quiet.

It just felt so _good_.

Even now, knowing that there’s a splotch of purple on his neck with Rick’s name written all over it, Daryl feels that familiar tingle of arousal start to stir at the base of his spine.

It startles him.

… _but it doesn’t have to_ , he thinks, letting the thought creep in slowly.  _You’re still just havin’ fun.  Messin’ around ain’t a sin in your book._

“Won’t happen again,” he tells Michonne, even though he kind of hopes it will.  “Just got a little carried away.”


	6. You Slipped Right Through; I Wish You Hadn't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick is going down, down, down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VERY sorry for the wait here, guys. This chapter isn't nearly as long as it should be (again *gulps*), but there's a bit of an explanation for it waiting down at the end of this awkward, teenage smut fest.

Although they had talked it over, Rick doesn’t exactly know what to do with himself when Daryl finally ends up tapping at his window, smile in place as he balances himself on the thick branches of the same nearby tree that Rick has made use of at least a dozen times.

It’s surreal.  He feels like he’s treading water as he leaves his desk and goes to open the window, averting his eyes from the sight that is Daryl’s lean body as he maneuvers himself onto the safety of level ground.

“Better’ve been worth it,” Daryl huffs.

And then they’re kissing.

Just like that.

It’s nearly impossible for Rick to wrap his head around it.

Just a few days ago and he was swearing up and down that he’d have nothing to do with Daryl so long as he lived, and now he _can’t get enough_ of him.  That moment in the bathroom, however brief and embarrassing, had been his final breaking point.  He couldn’t stop himself from wanting _this_ , the hands curling possessively around his hips and the tongue tracing poetry against his ribcage.

He’s had dreams about this moment all week, ever since Daryl asked for his number and texted him an endless list of dirty tricks he planned to play.  (One of which included licking his lips obscenely every time Rick caught sight of him in the hallway, an action that left him with more awkward boners than he had back in junior high.)

He curls his fingers through Daryl’s hair, momentarily admiring the softness of his unruly locks before tugging their mouths away and grinning wetly against the flesh of Daryl’s jaw.  “Want you to show me,” he pants, hiding the red on his cheeks in Daryl’s neck.  “ _Everything_.”

Daryl groans impatiently, letting himself be manhandled towards the bed.

Rick has never had this before.  With Lori, they never really established any sort of give-and-take.  Lori did what she thought would make Rick happy and Rick wouldn’t complain when it didn’t.  The burning itch under his skin, compelling him to bruise Daryl and leave him begging for more, is entirely new to him, and he doesn’t know what to _do_ with it.

But he wants to make Daryl feel that way, too.

So he pushes Daryl against the mattress and rucks his shirt up, fingers skating across the smooth skin of Daryl’s stomach.  He follows his fingers with his tongue, breathing heavily while Daryl sits up on his elbows to watch what Rick is doing.

Carefully, as if working with a gift-wrapped figurine made of marble and glass, Rick starts to work on removing Daryl’s jeans.

“Hurry the _fuck up_ ,” Daryl grumbles, falling back against the mattress with an impatient huff.  He wiggles his hips when Rick’s fingers hesitate, urging him on.

With a little help from Daryl, they manage to get Daryl’s shoes and pants off pretty smoothly, although Rick starts to feel nervous when faced with the other boy’s boxer-clad dick.  

“Daryl, I-I’ve never…”

A low, grumbling groan vibrates against the bed as Daryl sits back up on his elbows, reaching out to grab Rick’s chin.  It’s a bit too forceful, perhaps, but the pain of Daryl’s fingers only deepens Rick’s arousal.  His dick twitches in his pants.

“Jus’ do what feels good, yeah?”

Fingers slipping from Rick’s face, Daryl watches as he tentatively peels away the boy’s boxers.  Rick flushes and refuses to make eye-contact as Daryl kicks out of the fabric, but he can feel Daryl’s eyes burning holes into his skin.

Rick is suddenly face-to-face with the only other cock he’s seen in real life besides his own.

He inhales shakily, reaching out shyly to wrap his fingers around it.  He doesn’t dare look up to watch Daryl’s reaction as he drags his hand down and then up again, torturously slow.

Although there isn’t much in Rick’s bank of personal experience to compare it to, he’s pretty sure that Daryl is rather…largely endowed.  He’s thicker than Rick, that’s for sure.  Rick wonders if his jaw will ache when it’s done.  He kind of hopes it does.

Shuffling around on his knees to get better access, Rick flicks his eyes up to Daryl’s face, feeling a flare of heat at the sight he makes with eyes closed and bottom lip caught between his teeth.  Daringly, he sticks his tongue out and licks a stripe across the underside of Daryl’s length.

And before he can lose his courage, Rick wraps his lips around the head of Daryl’s dick and slips his mouth down, down, _down_.

Tears spring to his eyes as he struggles not to gag, but even that isn’t entirely unpleasant.  The taste of Daryl is thick and heady, already wet with pre-come as Rick struggles to use his tongue and lips without the bite of his teeth.

For his part, Daryl is fairly quiet, a fact that Rick isn’t necessarily pleased with.

So, thinking of what he likes on himself, Rick reaches down to curl his palm around Daryl’s balls.  At the same time, he sucks Daryl down as far as he will go.

It’s the strangest thing he’s ever done, but it’s better than any blurry daydream.  Daryl’s noises of desire, however quiet, send shocks like lightning bolts through Rick’s bones.  He wants to trap the sound of Daryl coming undone on a tape, wants to play it every time the world weighs too heavy on Rick’s shoulders.

“Rick I’m—“

Rick doesn’t want it to be over.  He wants to keep tearing Daryl apart, to destroy him. 

He doesn’t think to be scared as Daryl comes down his throat.

It nearly chokes him, but he digs his fingers into Daryl’s thighs and doesn’t pull off until Daryl is shoving at his shoulders.

Wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, Rick smiles sheepishly up at Daryl.  He makes quite the sight, all flushed and lazy.  Rick wants to kiss him, so he does.

But Daryl isn’t feeling it.  He nudges Rick away, albeit fairy gently, and drops his head to Rick’s shoulder.

This is… _unexpected_.

Rick doesn’t know if he should wrap his arms around Daryl or if he should move away.  With Lori – with anybody else, really – the answer would have been obvious, but Daryl is an enigma wrapped within a massive contradiction, and Rick finds himself at a loss.

So Rick doesn’t do anything.

He just kinds of sits there on his knees, awkwardly holding himself upright as Daryl leans heavily on his shoulder, pants missing and eyes screwed shut. 

“Daryl—“

“ _Shut up_.”

Mouth clamped shut, Rick does the only thing he thinks is appropriate, which is to twist his fingers through the hair at the nape of Daryl’s neck.  If it’s uncomfortable, Daryl doesn’t say anything, a good a sign as any for Rick to rub soothing circles into Daryl’s scalp.

Daryl melts against him, beautiful and strange and, Rick can’t help but to think, a bit misunderstood.  He wonders how many other people have seen this side of him, how many of them have been punched square in the jaw just to keep quiet.

He wonders how many people Daryl has made love him.

He hopes to god, as he tightens his grip on Daryl’s hair, that he doesn’t become one of them.

xxx

There isn’t much talking after that.

When Daryl finally comes back to himself, it’s with that same stony expression on his face that Rick has known ever since junior high.  He grabs his pants before asking if Rick wants the action reciprocated, an offer Rick denies.  His thoughts are working in overdrive, words flying through midair as he watches Daryl fold himself back through the window.

The window slams shut, rattling the pane, and Rick falls back against his bed to the sound of shaking glass.

He hadn’t thought to brush his teeth afterwards, so his mouth still tastes entirely like Daryl.  The taste of him is painted across his teeth, striking a nerve Rick never knew he had.

He had thought, foolishly, that things were looking up.

He and Beth had a good long talk, full to the brim about how unworthy Daryl was of either of their attention.  They had laughed at their mistakes, smothering the sounds of their mirth behind their palms when Andrea told them to either shut up or tell her what the hell they both seemed to find so funny.

Beth had even admitted that she was going to miss Rick something fierce when he graduated, an admission that he hadn’t exactly seen coming.  It put a lot of things into perspective for him.

At least, it _did_.

The situation has spun out of his control, slipping through his fingers like blood through water.  He thinks of Daryl, of the flushed part to his lips after a good, hard kiss, and his heart slams against his ribcage with vengeance.

He knows next to nothing about the boy, but he guesses he’s always known, maybe even before their first encounter behind the school, that he was drawn to Daryl in ways that some people wouldn’t find natural.

The feeling has probably been there for years now, let loose entirely when Rick was on his knees with Daryl in his mouth. 

He lets out a low, pained sigh between his teeth.  Any excitement is blown to bits by the knowledge that Daryl Dixon, of all people, would only laugh in Rick’s face if he ever though to admit it out loud.

_Yeah_ , he thinks, turning over in bed and burying his face in his pillows.  _If I ever told Daryl Dixon that I thought I was starting to fall in love with him, he’d probably kick my nuts up into my lungs.  Not a good idea._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, starting next week I'll officially be a freshman at university. (*promptly passes out from fear and shock alone*) It's been putting me through a lot of stress, since I'll be living away from home and I have absolutely zero idea how to live without my parents, and I've been struggling to properly enjoy what little remains of my summer.
> 
> I promise you with all of my heart that this work will not be abandoned, so don't give up on me yet! My schedule for the first semester isn't entirely grueling, so I doubt that I won't have time to work on this piece, it's just a matter of mental health and what I can actually dish out with the time my brain decides to give me.
> 
> As always, however, I encourage you to give me your input! If you have any tips or ideas in order for me to improve this work, please let me know! (And if you have any tips or ideas for getting through your first year of college, you can also fill me in, heh *coughs awkwardly*)


	7. Better Men Fell to Their Knees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl is starting to lose it. Rick makes a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, WELL. first off, i am SOOOOOOO incredibly sorry for the lack of updates, but my life has been a whirlwind of hospital visits and dropping out of school and just...UGH. a lot's been going on.
> 
> i hope this chapter can somewhat make up for my inability to update consistently:/
> 
> there are some warnings for this chapter, including homophobic slurs, homophobia in general, and perhaps maybe a bit of dub-con if you squint reallyreally hard. i didn't mean for it to come off that way, but, hey, what can ya do?

**_“Ain’t no good, havin’ a fruit for a brother.”_ **

_Daryl is lying on his bed, teeth grit in defiance as his brother towers over him.  In the dark, he is not only a giant, but a man with fire in his eyes and hatred curled around his tongue like a lasso.  Not even their father could make Daryl so afraid -- could make his heart bruise his ribcage in its attempt to escape the stress his fear was causing it._

_“Merle, quit it.  I ain’t—“_

_“That’s not what Rick said.”_

_And there it is.  The shot that pierces through flesh and bone._

_He looks down and his hands are chained to the bed.  His wrists are torn raw and bloody from his attempts at escape.  “What in the fuckin’ hell—“_

_“People like you,” Merle whispers, breathing the stale scent of beer into his mouth.  “Don’t deserve t’live, lil’ brother.  Puttin’ you down’ll be like puttin’ a sick dog outta its misery.”_

Daryl wakes with a gasp, tearing frantically at his sheets as he struggles to pull enough air into his lungs.

His clothes are drenched with sweat and there’s the metal taste of blood in his mouth from where he bit his tongue. 

With a groan, he drops his head into his hands and wipes the tears away with the heels of his palms.  When was the last time he had a nightmare like that?  And about _Merle_?

When he was younger, he dreamt constantly about his father’s shadowy form, watching him with red-rimmed eyes from the corner of his room.  He often woke up with self-inflicted scratch marks, left by the ghost of his father moving through his fingers.

However, those dreams stopped when he started taking the beatings with the determined pride of someone who knew not to let his father’s mistakes ruin him, too.

But even when he was still having nightmares, his father never gave two shits about who he was sleeping with.  The blood his father shed was regretful, flowing too easily to stop.  His father was always grumbling about Daryl’s mother, blaming himself for her death in Dream Land like he never could in real life.

Merle has always been his rock, however bumpy of one he may have been.  They never talked about something as unimportant as sexuality when there were bills to pay and a father to keep in line, but it was no secret that Merle had no tolerance for queers.

Daryl remembers watching, attempting not to care, as some poor soul was dragged away from Merle’s vicious fists just because his eyes lingered a second too long on his brother’s ass.

But _still_.

Daryl never _gave_ a shit.

He never planned on anybody, let alone his brother, finding out about who he slept with.  There may have been a general idea floating around school, but Daryl had threatened the lives of many innocent people in an attempt to keep their mouths shut and his family uninvolved. 

Even then, he was never really afraid of his brother finding out.  He knew Merle better than anyone – knew how to convince him that the truth was a lie.

So why _now_?

And why _Rick_?

Officer Friendly may be more or less confident in himself and his sexuality, but he’s never dated anybody than that Lori chick.  From what he’s heard, everyone just assumed that Rick lied about his open sexuality in an attempt to come off as more approachable.  After all, the kid was constantly trying to make friends with absolutely _everybody_ , from his fellow stoners to the dweebs in the Astronomy club.

Daryl obviously doesn’t _believe_ that, but he’s still pretty sure that Rick won’t run around telling other people about his admittedly awkward conquest.

Tossing a glance at the clock, he realizes with a heavy sense of dread that there are still four hours until the sun comes up.  There’s no way in hell he’s falling back to sleep, and staying around here would just be a drag, so he figures there’s really only one thing left to do.

Kicking out of bed, he grabs his jacket off the back of his pathetic excuse for a desk chair.  He ignores the shaking in his hands as he snatches his boots and slips them on without bothering with the laces.

He makes sure to slip out of the house as quietly as he can.

xxx

Michonne, for all her general bad ass-ery, is always a sight to see in her fuzzy kitten pajama pants and pink tank-tops.

“ _Shut the hell up_ ,” she hisses, narrowing her eyes as he pushes past her with a quiet chuckle.  “They’re fuckin’ comfortable.”

Unlike Daryl, Michonne comes from a fairly decent family.  Her parents have always been kind to Daryl, to the point where they pretty quickly stopped threatening to call the cops every time they woke up to find the boy sleeping in their daughter’s bed.

They buy her nice things (like the pajamas) and expect nothing but the best from their only daughter, clueless as to the clothes she buys from Good Will and the cigarettes she keeps stuffed under her mattress. 

“Be quiet, my parents are sleeping.”

Daryl leads the way to her room, so familiar with the terrain of her household, even in the dark, that he doesn’t think twice about it.

He pushes into her room and flops down automatically on her bed, sighing contentedly as the unbelievable comfort of the mattress saps at his stress, however momentarily. 

“Move the fuck over,” Michonne growls.  There’s no heat to it, though.  “And take your shoes off before I take a katana to your feet.”

Daryl’s only response is to tug her blanket over his legs, moving over with an impatient huff as Michonne makes room for herself on the other side of the bed.  Daryl automatically curls himself around her, throwing an arm over her shoulders and nuzzling at the side of her neck.

She’s the only person in the whole world who’s ever seen this side of him.

The only one who ever _will_ , as far as he’s concerned.

Sighing heavily, Michonne drops a hand to his head, carding her fingers through the probably-too-long-strands.  “Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.”

She snorts.  “Your lies might work on other people, Dixon, but they ain’t working on me.”

And the thing is, Daryl _does_ want to tell her.  He wants to tell her about Rick, about how often the dumb kid is on his mind, and about the fear that sours his stomach every time he thinks about his brother finding out about how much more often he’s with boys instead of girls.

But even Michonne, who’s probably the world’s best cuddler and who smells like cinnamon, might not understand.  She’ll probably say something stupid; something about feelings and about how he has a _heart_ or whatever.

He’s heard it all before, and he’s laughed it off every single time, but he just doesn’t think he has it in him to handle it with good humor right now.

There’s a strange feeling in the pit of his gut, squirming and wild, and all he wants to do is sleep until the sickness inside of him goes away.

“Jus’ sleep,” he mumbles, letting his eyes drift shut.  “ _Jus’ sleep_.”

xxx

“All I’m sayin’ is that you haven’t gotten any since the split with Lori and—“

“Shane, _please_ shut up.”

Rick is sitting in the passenger seat of Shane’s beat up old pick-up truck, feet kicked up on the dash and head resting against the pane of the window.

They’re on their way to Maggie’s house, _again_ , because apparently being a senior means partying absolutely _every_ weekend.    

(Rick won’t lie and say that he’s not excited, though.  There’s a buzzing in his fingers that races all the way down to his toes and back up again at the thought of maybe getting to see Daryl again.)

Shane sighs, but doesn’t attempt to bring it up anymore.

They pull into the Greene’s driveway, make their own snarky remarks about veterinarians getting too much money these days, and go their separate ways.

No doubt, Shane is off looking for Lori, which means that Rick won’t be seeing much of him until it’s time to drive his drunk ass back home.

This time, Rick is smart enough to bypass the alcohol entirely, even if he doesn’t see Daryl anywhere and hasn’t heard anything about the other boy being here tonight.  He came here to have fun, with or without Daryl.

He makes his way into the kitchen, smiles politely at all of his wasted acquaintances, and grabs himself a glass of water.

He’s about to take a sip when somebody bumps into him, knocking the glass to the floor (thankfully without breaking) and sending water splashing all over him.

“Oh my _god_ , I am _so_ sorry!”

A small, skinny girl with a pixie cut is waving her arms frantically at Rick’s wet clothing, cheeks red from embarrassment and what Rick assumes is alcohol as she fumbles over her words in an attempt at speaking properly.

“Jesus…shit, fuck…I knew I shouldn’t…man, seriously, I am so _sorry_ …”

Rick can’t help but smile at her.

She’s adorable, probably younger than he is by at least two years, and he wonders why he’s never seen her around before.  “Hey, really, it’s alright.  Just water.  Nothin’ a tumble in the dryer won’t fix.”

He kind of wants to slap himself for that one.  _A tumble in the dryer, Rick, really?_

Tentatively, the girl smiles back at him.  She reaches out for a handshake and the smile widens when he grips her hand in turn.  “The name’s Carol.  And I’m not as drunk as I look, promise.  Just nerves is all.”

“I’m Rick, and I can relate.”

He bends down to grab the fallen glass, sending a quick ‘thanks’ to some higher power before turning his attention back to Carol.

She’s pretty, but not in a sensational way like Lori or Andrea.  Her looks wouldn’t get her noticed in a crowd, but she has kind eyes and a genuinely warm smile.  Rick finds himself drawn to her in a way that he hasn’t ever really experienced before.  Not like Lori and definitely not like Daryl.  He’s not attracted to her.  He just… _likes_ her.

“Well, Rick,” Carol sighs.  “If you’re planning on wearing that shirt for the rest of tonight, I think I might know a quicker way to get it dry.  Come on.”

Without a second thought, he starts to follow her through the crowd, watching her move quietly and awkwardly through throngs of ignorant teenagers with a bit of an ache in his chest.

They eventually make it to the bathroom, where Rick cuts Carol some slack and takes care of removing the binge drinkers by telling them that he’s about to get laid.  He gets a few high-fives and a couple disgusted eye-rolls from a girl or two, but the best reaction is probably from Carol, who tries hard not to make her laughter too obnoxious by burying the sound of it in her hands.

“Sorry if I made things awkward,” he teases, elbowing her in the side as she closes the door behind them.

She snorts.  “It doesn’t help that I’m about to ask you to take your shirt off.”

He raises his eyebrows in silent question, to which she responds by opening the cabinet under the sink and pulling out a blow dryer.  “I’d do it while you kept the shirt on, but I don’t want to burn you on accident.”

“Can that actually happen?”  Nevertheless, he starts to button his shirt.

Cocking her head to the side, Carol pokes her tongue out in consideration.  “I don’t really know.  But sometimes, when I’m not really paying attention, I get the thing too close to my head and it hurts like a bitch.”  She pokes at her short hair, wrinkling her nose at her reflection in the mirror, and Rick thinks wildly that he kind of wants this girl to be his best friend.

Handing her his shirt, he can’t help the shout that escapes him when the door swings open with a _bang_ , revealing none other than Daryl Dixon, bottle of beer caught between his fingers and eyes set to kill.

Carol goes from red to pale.  Immediately, Rick places himself in front of her, feeling instantly protective of a sweet girl who got stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time.

People are swarming around Daryl, trying to get a look at what’s going on, and Rick can only imagine what he must look like with his shirt in Carol’s hands.  There are gasps and laughs and shouts of ‘ _congratulations!_ ’, but none of it matters when all Rick can feel are Daryl’s eyes burning holes through his skin like gunshots.

Carol presses closer to Rick’s side, curling her fingers around his arm.  He can feel her shaking.

“Daryl,” Rick says, trying to keep his voice calm for Carol’s sake.  Internally, his body is at war with too many emotions.  Excitement at seeing Daryl again.  Fear at what it could mean.  “Listen to me—“

“ _Out_.”  Daryl steps further into the room, snarling the word like a pitbull.  His eyes zero in on Carol and her fingers twist so tight around Rick’s arm that her nails start to dig into his flesh.  “ _Get away from him_.”

The crowd is starting to lose interest, but there are still a few people standing around Daryl like fans at a baseball game, eager for the next homerun.  Daryl wouldn’t dare, Rick thinks, make it obvious that there’s something going on between them.  _Would he?_

Daryl takes another step and Rick shifts so that he’s standing entirely in front of Carol, but she drops her hand from his arm and takes a deep breath.  “It’s alright, Rick,” she whispers.  Her eyes are wide and she’s obviously still scared, but she moves out in front of him anyway.  She stands before Daryl with her hands on her hips, shaking like a leaf caught helplessly on a twig in the middle of autumn.  “Obviously you have some things to work out with this _maniac_.”

There are more gasps from the crowd as Carol pushes her way out.  Rick watches as she’s given pats on the back, all of which she ignores as she bulldozes her way through.

He wants to go after her, wants to apologize, but Daryl is slamming the door shut and locking it before he can even think about the fact that she left with his shirt.

“Daryl, what the _fuck_ —“

Daryl shuts him up with a kiss.

It’s brutal and all Rick can taste is alcohol.

He knows—he _knows_ —that he has to push Daryl away.  Maybe even punch him for good measure.  The good thing, the _right_ thing, would probably be to walk away from this, from _Daryl_ , forever.  He’s been on a roller-coaster ever since this whole thing started, and he wants so badly to say that he hates the feeling of free fall, but the sensation in the pit of his stomach does nothing more than to convince him that there’s no place he’d really rather be.

And that, he realizes, scares the shit out of him.

So he lets Daryl pin him hard against the counter, lets him rip at his jeans and fall to his knees with the fluidness of a drunken, angry man.  He doesn’t even complain when Daryl forces a hand over his mouth and sloppily tells him to shut up before somebody hears.

Daryl’s mouth is on him and it’s all over before Rick can even form a semi-coherent thought.  He comes all over Daryl’s face with a shout bitten into the back of his hand.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Rick wheezes, falling onto his ass and burying his head in his arms.  “And that poor girl, Carol, she wasn’t even—“

Daryl pitches forward and traps Rick’s jaw between his fingers.  His eyes are clouded over with too much alcohol and it’s all Rick can smell on his breath. 

Oddly enough, though, looking into Daryl’s eyes like that…

It makes Rick feel _better_.

“M’sorry,” Daryl sighs.  He sounds exhausted, broken down, and Rick wonders if he’s not the only one going out of his damned mind, here.  “Sorry, so fuckin’ sorry.”

Rick, despite how exhausted he suddenly feels, is ready to reciprocate the action.  He’s about to start working on the button of Daryl’s jeans when the other boy pulls away, stumbling awkwardly to his feet and resting his weight against the counter with his eyes squeezed shut.

Tentatively, Rick stands up and reaches for Daryl’s hand, feeling the sudden, overwhelming need to provide comfort.  Last second, though, he bites his tongue and pulls his hand back.

That’s not what this is.

So instead, he claps a hand on Daryl’s shoulder and shoots an awkward smile.  “How’re we gonna work on makin’ this look like somethin’ it wasn’t?”  He motions to his bare torso, blushing despite himself.

Somehow, Daryl pulls a weak smile, and the sight of it sends something shooting through Rick’s veins like a drug he never had the guts to actually try.  “I’ll leave first,” he says.  His voice sounds rough and tired, like he’s been beaten down by a million different fists.  “Tell everyone I beat ya up.”

And that’s all there is to it, really.

Daryl leaves the bathroom, followed by a crowd of cheers and shouts, while Rick leans with his back pressed to the counter and thinks about Daryl and Carol and the fact that he still doesn’t have a shirt on.

He thinks about going home, about forgetting all about this, but then he remembers that he’s kind of a good person, and good people don’t leave drunk, one-sided hook-ups behind.

Sighing, he slips out of the bathroom, thankfully with nothing more than a few angry curses from people who were waiting to actually _use_ the bathroom, and isn’t all that surprised to find Carol standing awkwardly at the end of the hallway, folding and unfolding the fabric of his shirt over her hands.

She straightens up the moment she sees him, shoving his shirt at his chest.  “Shit, Rick, I’m so sorry.  I heard that Daryl—“

“I don’t really feel like talkin’ about it,” he cuts her off, taking the shirt back with a nod and slipping it back on over his shoulders.  “How are you getting home?”

Looking confused, Carol’s only response is to open her mouth and close it again.

Snorting, Rick reaches down to give her hand a quick squeeze.  “You have a ride home?  Somebody _sober_?”

She nods.

“Good, now, I gotta go find Daryl.  Make sure he isn’t drivin’ drunk like the idiot he is.”

“You actually wanna _help_ that asshole?”

Hearing her say that actually _stings_ a little for some reason.

“Yeah,” he says, pulling his lips to the side in a forced attempt at good humor.  “Yeah, guess I do.”


	8. Kiss Me Sober, Kiss Me Sweet

Daryl is stumbling-down drunk.

He can’t walk or think straight, and he keeps running into people because of it.  He’s fucking _exhausted_ , too.

“ _Watch it_!” somebody snaps at him, to which he promptly responds with a snort and a raised middle finger.

All he can taste is _Rick_.

All he can fucking _feel_ is _Rick_.

It’s starting to drive him crazy, the hot-slick-sweet mark that Rick leaves on him.  It makes his stomach swarm with something too warm to be nausea, but that he’s just as eager to get rid of.

He thinks again of the picture Rick made, standing shirtless in front of some girl while people crowded around the bathroom, shouting at him with their sick calls of congratulations.  Even now, the thought of anybody else touching Rick makes Daryl want to punch his fist through a wall.

And _that_ …

Well, he doesn’t want to think about it anymore.

By the time he’s run into about six different people, he decides it’s time to call Michonne.

Calling her becomes a problem, however, when he can’t get his hands to work properly.  He’s such a wasted mix of drunk and tired that he can’t even reach into his pocket without missing at _least_ a dozen times.  The most he ends up doing is skating his fingers across his jeans.

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” he hisses, giving up and making his main goal just to _get out_ of this fucking house.  He can barely breathe through the smog of cigarette smoke and body odor, and his own thoughts are hardly heard over the bass-heavy music.

He has just enough time to regret drinking so much before a hand lands on his shoulder and starts guiding him through the crowded home.

“I got you, Daryl.  I got you.”

And of _course_ it’s Rick.  He would laugh if he didn’t feel like his stomach was trying to crawl its way out up his throat.

“Don’t need…you,” he slurs, but he doesn’t pull away from Rick’s touch.  “Fine on m’own, dammit.”

“Yeah, okay, just keep walkin’.”

With Rick’s help, they eventually make it out into the cooler, slightly fresher air.  The stench of alcohol is still strong, but it’s easier to breathe and his thoughts already start to stitch themselves together more easily.

Taking a deep breath, he pulls away from Rick’s warmth.  The action, however, nearly causes him to trip, resulting in Rick’s hands at his waist.

“Get _off_!” he snarls, spinning around to face the other boy.

_God_ , the sight knocks the breath straight out of his lungs.

Rick looks so concerned – so _genuinely_ concerned – that Daryl kind of wants to kick himself for being such an ass.

“Do you have a ride home?” Rick asks, ignoring Daryl’s pointless, drunken cynicism.  _He’s probably used to it_ , Daryl thinks bitterly.

Daryl nods without thinking.  “Came here on my bike.”

Rick rolls his eyes.  “You’re dumb as shit if you think I’m letting you get on that motorcycle while _intoxicated_.  You’re coming home with me.  We’ll swing by tomorrow morning to pick up that _deathtrap_ you call a vehicle.”

Struggling to keep up with what Rick’s saying, Daryl doesn’t try to fight when Rick grabs his wrist and starts dragging him towards the row of cars parked on the street.

“You’ll have to wait while I go get Shane,” Rick says, but Daryl is so tired that he barely even registers what the other boy is saying.  “Won’t be long, promise.”

They end up by a beat-up old truck.  Rick opens the back door and nods for Daryl to hop in.  “Lay down if you like.  Looks like you need it.”

Something like a whisper in Daryl’s mind tells him that this is a really, _really_ bad idea, but it doesn’t stop him from crawling into the back seat and stretching his body across as much of the small space as he can manage.

Before Rick closes the door, Daryl swears the other boy cracks a smile, but for all he knows it’s just a dream.

As soon as his head hits the soft cushion of the backseat, he’s asleep.

xxx

His dreams are not sweet and warm.  They’re a mix of scattered images, broken and flickering across his mind as the alcohol in his system bleeds through his brain.

Which is why he wakes up with a shout when somebody shakes him awake.  “Hey.  _Hey_ , Daryl!  Time to get up!”

Daryl jerks into a sitting position, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the car as his eyes focus slowly on Rick Grimes’ hazy form.

His body is outlined by the dull glow of those automatic porch lights that Daryl kind of always wishes his house had, casting strange shadows across his face.  “Wha—“

_“You’re such a fuckin’ idiot, man.”_

The blood in Daryl’s veins freezes.

Standing behind Rick, arms crossed over his chest like an angry security guard, is Shane Walsh.

“Why the hell is he here?” Daryl growls without thinking.

Before Rick can answer, Shane is pushing him out of the way and ducking his head into the truck.  “Why am _I_ here?  It’s _my_ truck, dumbass.”

“ _Enough_ ,” Rick sighs.  He grabs the back of Shane’s shirt and tugs him away from the car, motioning for Daryl to step out.  “I told you I had to get Shane, remember?  It’s his car and I wasn’t letting you drive drunk.”

Daryl shoots Shane a narrowed glance before stepping out of the truck, slamming the door behind him. 

“Should’a just let him go,” Shane grumbles, shaking his head in disbelief as he looks Daryl up and down.  “Kid never did a good thing a day in his life.  Deserves what he gets.”

Daryl has half a mind to punch Shane straight in the jaw, but Rick, probably foreseeing the inevitable, takes a step between the two of them before Daryl can even open his mouth to respond.  “Just go inside, Shane.”

“And what are you gonna do about Daryl?”  Shane practically spits his name, like it tastes sour in his mouth.

“He’s stayin’ with me.”

Daryl’s eyes probably grow to the size of the full moon above them as Shane coughs out a disbelieving “ _What_?”

“He’s _wasted_ , Shane.  I’m not sending him home looking like he just dragged himself out of the river with anchors shackled to his ankles.”

“Not… _cool_ ,” Daryl hisses, closing his eyes when the words send a striking pain through his skull. 

Shane snorts.  “Whatever, man.  Just don’t come cryin’ to me when your parents ground you after finding a boy in your bed.  ‘Specially one like _him_.”

“ _Shane_.”

And then Shane is turning around, grumbling something under his breath as he heads towards the front porch of what Daryl is assuming is his house.

“Are you two _neighbors_?” Daryl asks.

Rick cracks a smile, and it’s brighter than the lights and the stars and the moon combined and Daryl _really_ needs to go to bed.  “Wouldn’t be friends if we _weren’t,_ honestly.  He’s kind of a dick.”

“Understatement of the century, man.”

They both laugh, although it sounds awkward and Daryl’s head throbs with the sound of it.  His heart is pounding fast and hard against his ribcage, a side effect from the fear of _spending the night with Rick_.

He should really _really **really**_ call Michonne. 

But he doesn’t even try to reach for his phone.  Not even when Rick apologetically tells him that they have to sneak back up into his room through the _window_ , a task that seems pretty much _impossible_ with the amount of alcohol in Daryl’s system. 

Lucky for him, he’s taken the alternative route to Rick’s bedroom before, so he’s walking on familiar ground (or… _tree_ , whatever).  Rick still has to follow behind him, keeping an unnecessary grip on his ass the entire time, which only serves to distract Daryl even _more_.  “Rick, Jesus, you don’t have to—“

“Just tryin’ to make sure you don’t fall.”  Daryl doesn’t turn around to the see the smile spread halfway across Rick’s face.

Thankfully, they make it to Rick’s window without any casualties, although opening it turns out to be a bit of a challenge.  Rick left it open by at least an inch, but the wood is old and refuses to budge even when Daryl steadies his feet and pushes all of his strength against it.

Rick’s hands move from Daryl’s ass to his waist, stepping up beside him.  The tree branch they stand on doesn’t really seem thick enough for their combined weight.  “Rick, you’re…gonna get us _killed_.”

Rick grins at him.  “Just shut up and help me get the damn window open.”

When the window eventually opens, Daryl selfishly shoves himself through it first, biting his tongue to contain a sigh of relief.  His heart is going off like a kid on a drum set and he can feel Rick’s hands on him _everywhere_.

Ducking in after him, Rick laughs as he closes the window.  “You look like shit, man.”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Daryl snaps, although there’s no real malice behind it.

Something in Rick’s eyes shifts.  In the dark, it’s hard to tell, but Daryl whatever Daryl sees sends a hot flush racing down his spine.  “Rick—“

He doesn’t have time to speak before Rick is crashing against him, shoving him back against the bed and climbing into his lap.  He moves so that their lips are just _barely_ touching, placing his hands gently on either side of Daryl’s face.  His breath smells like mint, a pleasant contrast to the alcohol he tastes on his own tongue.

“You won’t remember this tomorrow, will you?”  Rick whispers, tracing his thumbs lightly over Daryl’s cheeks, like he’s trying to commit the pattern of his flesh to memory.

The world is swimming around him.  Rick’s face is the only solid thing he sees; Rick’s eyes are the only light he can feel touching his skin.  He knows the answer.  He’s drunk enough to wish it wasn’t true.  “Won’t ‘member much.”

Rick’s lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile.  One of his thumbs brushes against Daryl’s bottom lip.  “I bet you’ll be gone before I even wake up tomorrow.”

_I don't want to be._   “Damn right.”

“I want you to quit runnin’ away from me, Daryl. Stay around a little while longer.  Let me give you more.”

The words are there, clear and brilliant, but only for the briefest of moments before they start to dim.  He tries desperately to latch onto them, to say something in response, but his eyes are already starting to close and all he wants to do is _feel_.

 So he grabs Rick’s hands and pulls them away before closing off the distance between their mouths and kissing him as sweetly as he knows how. 

The action says everything he does and doesn’t want it to, and he thinks he’ll probably regret it in the morning, but he’s too tired and too drunk to care.

“Sleep,” Rick whispers, knocking their foreheads together.  “You need to sleep.”

“Don’t _wanna_.”

Rick helps Daryl shrug out of his jacket, brushing their lips together as he does so.  Daryl can taste the other boy’s grin.

That night, he falls asleep with Rick’s arm wrapped around his waist, and for the first time in a while, he doesn’t dream about the awful things that lurk in the dark.


	9. It Passes You By, Until It Doesn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, SO sorry for not updating in over a month D: Life has been CRAZY, and on top of this I've been working on my own novel, and just...BLEGH. I'm also sorry for how...well, /unhappy/ this chapter is:P
> 
> Warning for physical abuse. (Let's just say the plot started taking on a life of its own, oops.)

Daryl is gone when Rick wakes up.

He isn’t surprised, but there’s something inside of him that wishes, however selfishly, that Daryl had _stayed_. 

He wishes he could have been there to watch Daryl open his eyes, listening to him grumble about an awful hangover as Rick offered to grab him some asprin.  He wishes Daryl had asked to borrow a toothbrush so he could brush his teeth before kissing Rick soft and sweet on the mouth, tasting like mint and promises.

Instead, all he gets is an empty bed and a hollow space near his heart.

Sighing heavily, he rolls out of bed and reaches automatically for his phone.

After last night, after the thoughts he just had, he figures there really isn’t any other option.  He has to tell somebody, before this… _thing_ bursts out of his chest and tries to strangle him.

He dials Andrea’s number without bothering to look at the time, biting his lip as the phone rings.

“ _Christ_ , Grimes, it’s eight o’clock on a fucking _Sunday_.  What the hell’s so important that you had to wreck my beauty sleep?”

The sound of her voice makes Rick smile.  “There’s, uh, something important I have to tell you.  I don’t really know who else to tell.  I’d tell Shane, I guess, but he’d probably shoot me—“

“You’ve got my attention, sweetheart.  Just tell me your secret.”

Flopping back down on his bed, Rick closes his eyes and contemplates the weight of what’s about to happen.  No doubt, the moment he admits out loud to Andrea what he’s been feeling, she’s going to work her ass off to make something good come out of it, and Rick doesn’t know if he’s ready to face Daryl’s inevitable shock and disgust.

But he _has_ to do _something_.

So, taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes and says the same nine words that have been rattling around inside his brain like a cyclone of confusion.  “I think I’m falling in love with Daryl Dixon.”

xxx

“Don’t you think this is just a _bit_ ridiculous?” Rick asks, wincing as Andrea flashes the light of her phone in his eyes. 

The moment he confessed to her what he’d been feeling, Andrea hung up, got in her car, and raced straight to his house.  Lucky for Rick, his parents were used to her obnoxious antics and gave her nothing more than a welcoming smile as she burst into the Grimes’ house.

“Just checking,” she huffs, pulling her phone back and clicking off the light.  “You’re _sure_ you’re not high?”  She leans forward, narrowing her eyes as she once again checks each of his pupils. 

“Do I _look_ high?”  Rick pushes her away gently, fixing her with a sad smile.  “This is _real_ , Andrea.”

Andrea simply stares at him for a moment, looking torn between laughing at the joke she seems to have missed and slapping him across the face.  “ _Daryl Dixon_?  Local badass, only sleeps with girls, supposedly been to prison a few times?”

Rick rolls his eyes.  “He may be a badass, but neither of those other two things are true.  There’s no way a boy _that_ good with his mouth—“

“Stop right there!”  Andrea holds up her hands and falls beside Rick on his bed.  “How many times have you two hooked up?”

Rick shrugs.  “I lost count.  And it’s not like…we haven’t… _gone all the way_.”

Andrea snorts.  “This is starting to sound like a _really_ shitty romance novel.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Well, what are we gonna _do_ about it?”

Shrugging, Rick drags a hand through his hair and shakes his head.  “That’s why I called you.  I don’t usually do this sort of thing.”

“So, what, you want me to help you woo the World’s Biggest Douche?”

Rick frowns, punching her softly in the arm.  “Don’t call him that.”

She rolls her eyes.  “Alright, sorry.  Let’s just…work on a game plan.”

“A _game_ plan?”

“Yeah, like football, only not at _all_ like football because, let’s be real, I know _nothing_ about football.  _Anyway_.  Are you planning on just up-front telling him, or doing something romantic?  Like balloons and flowers and all that shit.”

Even just the thought of _telling_ Daryl makes Rick wince.  He can only imagine the anger and mockery that would come his way if he went about it with too much, er, _romance_.  “None of that.  I’ve gotta make it… _simple_.”

Cocking her head to the side, Andrea narrows her eyes and purses her lips, like she does when she’s _really_ thinking about something.  “Ask him on a date.”

Rick just about chokes on the air in his lungs.  “No, I don’t think—“

“Wait, just _listen_.  All you have to do is ask him to dinner, say you’re dying of starvation or something, and make sure he knows there’s _dessert_ afterwards, if you know what I’m saying.” 

Rick groans.  “ _Andrea_.”

She reaches over to pat his head, a cheeky grin spread across her face.  “You know it’s a good idea.”

“No, it’s not.”

She shrugs.  “Maybe, but it’s the only one you’ve got.”

xxx

That Monday, Daryl doesn’t show up to school.  Rick can’t say he’s surprised, but he also can’t help feeling a little put-out.  Last night, he’d tossed and turned over the idea of asking Daryl on a date, contemplating all the different ways he could go about it.  He ended up smoking through half a box of cigarettes, only to throw the rest in the trashbin when he realized just how _bad_ that actually was.

He feels more prepared, though, by the time Tuesday rolls around.  He’s gone over the situation a thousand different times, mapping out every possible escape plan in his brain.  He’s ready for it; he’s _so ready_ to ask Daryl on a date, only…

Daryl doesn’t come to school on Tuesday, either.

“Calm down, this is normal for him,” Andrea tells him when they’re standing at Rick’s locker at the end of the day. 

“Yeah, but…”  He trails off and bites his lip, not quite sure how to explain the pooling sense of _wrong_ in the hollow of his gut.

He blames himself.  _Daryl probably remembered everything I told him_ , he thinks.  _Or he’s still pissed about Carol._

It doesn’t help that Rick ate lunch with Carol earlier that day, and every time he looked at her he wanted to slap himself.

That night, he sends Daryl one single text, swearing to himself that he’d stop there.  He wasn’t going to push this.  He wasn’t going to push _Daryl_.

But, _god_ , it doesn’t help that all he can _think about_ is Daryl.  About his eyes and his mouth and his body and his voice and his _stupid laugh_.  He thinks about how warm Daryl felt, falling asleep against Rick’s body like it was _normal,_ like it was something they did all the time.

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” he whispers, running his hands over his face and throwing his blanket over his face.

xxx

**To Daryl Dixon:) at 11:32 PM** : _i’m worried about you and i miss you.  like, doing stuff with you.  idk.  please tell me if i did something wrong._

xxx

The damage is worse this time.  So, _so_ much worse.

Merle even says that they should go to the hospital, but Daryl reminds him of all the following consequences, and his big brother pointedly shuts up.

With his brother’s help, Daryl gets the glass out of the cut across his forehead, smearing blood across his shirt when his hands are shaking so badly that he has to stop.

“ _I’m going to fucking kill ‘im_ ,” Merle hisses, but they both know there’s no real truth behind the words.

Their father is still their father, after all, even if he smashed a glass across Daryl’s face and blamed him for the nightmares he still had about his dead wife.

And there are bruises, too.  A giant one that blossoms across his cheek and another one that spreads across his abdomen like poisoned blood.

Cuts on his neck and tears in his shirt.  His leg aches from where his father kicked him in the knee and proceeded to stomp on his shin, to the point where he has to limp everywhere he goes.

Daryl doesn’t know what to do.

Merle is there, and Merle is good, but he’s not what Daryl needs.  Sometimes, even though he tries his hardest not to, Daryl can only look at his older brother and see the lack of damage that he, himself, has racked up over the years.  A scar across his knuckles.  That’s it.

Usually, he would go to Michonne, but he knows there’s only so much she can take before she finally snaps and calls the police, and Daryl can’t have that. 

So he doesn’t do anything, doesn’t go anywhere.

He changes out of his bloody clothes and tells Merle to leave him the fuck alone before curling into a ball on top of his bed, absentmindedly running his fingers over the multiple bandages stuck to his face.

He thinks of Rick.

He doesn’t leave his bed until Wednesday, when he can’t take it anymore.

He turns his phone on and reads Rick’s text at least a dozen times, committing the words to memory.  _I’m worried about you and I miss you.  I’m worried about you and I miss you._

Daryl stops to look at himself in the bathroom mirror on the way out of the house.  He takes a moment to change the bandages, ignoring the fresh blood that pools against his fingers when he removes the old ones. 

_I fell down the stairs_ , he thinks.  _I fell down the stairs and bashed my head on the bannister_.

It’s an obvious lie, but it’s one that Rick will be too naïve to see through.

At least, Daryl hopes so.

xxx

Rick is lying on his bed texting Carol about some impossible math problem that she’s having trouble with on her homework when there’s a knock on his window.

At first, he doesn’t think anything of it.  It’s been windy out and yeah, sometimes the tree bangs against his window.  Whatever.

But then it happens again, only this time it happens _three_ times.

Rick jerks out of bed, kicking his blankets away and nearly tripping over his own feet as he moves to pull back the curtains, heart pounding _too-fast-too-hard_ against his ribcage.

And it’s _Daryl_.

He’s grinning without thinking about it, opening the window with probably too much enthusiasm but, well, _oh well_.

Daryl wastes no time in kissing Rick.

He grabs onto the Rick’s shirt and pulls himself in the room, pressing their mouths together so hard that Rick has to wonder vaguely if lips can bruise.  Rick wraps his arms around Daryl’s waist and drags his fingers under the hem of the other boy’s t-shirt, shivering at the warmth against his fingertips.

“Daryl, I’m so glad—“

But Daryl doesn’t let him talk, just pushes him back until his knees are hitting the bed and he’s stumbling backwards.

He’s about to start laughing when he looks up and sees the bandages across Daryl’s forehead and the bruise painted across his cheek.  “Jesus, Daryl—“

“Fell down the stairs,” Daryl mumbles, pulling off his shirt.

More bruises, more cuts, stretched across his skin like a constellation of dying, bloody stars.

Rick has seen this a hundred times, having a sheriff as a father.  He’s sat at his father’s desk while he watched boys and girls cry into the arms of the nearest officer, looking away as their parent was dragged down the hallway towards their jail cell, shouting out for their child to keep their mouths shut if they wanted to live to see another day.

_I wasn’t wearing a helmet when I tumbled off my bike_ , they would say _.  I wasn’t being careful and I cut myself on a broken dish_ , they would say.  _I fell down the stairs_ , they would say.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Daryl,” Rick whispers, reaching out to gently, _so_ gently, trace his fingers around the edges of the bruise on his stomach.  “My dad’s a cop, remember?”

Daryl closes his eyes and shakes his head.  “It’s not what you think.  Rick, it’s not—“

“How long has it been happening?  _Jesus_ , Daryl, why did you keep this from me?”  Rick stands up, cupping Daryl’s jaw in his hand and tipping his head back to get a better look at the bandages.  Blood has already soaked through the cheap material, leaving Rick to worry over just how bad the cut actually is.

“It ain’t none of your business,” Daryl snaps, but he doesn’t pull away from Rick’s touch.  If anything, he leans into it.

“It is my business when somebody I l—“  He catches himself and grits his teeth.  “When somebody I _care_ about is getting hurt.  We can go get my dad right now, Daryl.  He can take care of everything.”

Shaking his head, Daryl reaches up and grabs Rick’s wrist, pulling his hand away.  Their eyes meet and Rick thinks wildly that this is what Daryl Dixon must look like when he’s broken.

“It’s not that easy, and you know it.  Especially not with my track record.”

“Yeah, but _Daryl_ …”

“I just wanna be with you, that’s all.”  The words come out strangled and sharp, like it’s taking everything Daryl has inside of him to even get them out. 

Rick’s breath hitches in his throat.

He knows it’s probably not the right thing to do, that he should probably run and tell his father everything, but he also knows that there are some things he wasn’t meant to understand, and maybe Daryl is one of them.

So, instead of breaking Daryl’s trust and ruining whatever fragile foundation he’s built himself up on, Rick presses a chaste kiss against his cheek and offers to grab some better bandages.

xxx

While Rick is off looking for something to stop the bleeding, Daryl sits down on his bed and opens his phone, scrolling through his messages folder until he finds the one labeled ‘ _Drafts_.’

Clicking on it, he looks over his shoulder to make sure that Rick isn’t coming.

**To Rick, Unsent:** _i need your help and i need you and i’m so confused and all i want is you_

With a sigh, he deletes the message.


	10. When It's Just Not You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so, SO, SOOOOO sorry for taking so long on this chapter, and i'm even MORE sorry for how much of a pathetic filler it is:/ i know you guys don't want to hear excuses, but i really have been quite busy lately, and when i'm not busy i'm trying to improve my mental/physical health and it's just all been SO. MUCH. 
> 
> rest assured, however, that i am going to give you guys an AMAZING update before Christmas, as both a holiday and apology gift!
> 
> please, forgive me

They wind up lying side-by-side on Rick’s bed, staring at the ceiling.

Rick has about a million questions, all of them heavy and pressing, but he keeps his mouth shut for Daryl’s sake.  Daryl, sitting there with a bandage across his forehead and a bruised cheek.  Daryl, who winces every time he moves because of the bruise on his stomach and the nauseating pain in his leg.

“Maybe we should…” Rick starts, only to bite his lip and shake his head when Daryl glances at him from the corner of his eye.  “Never mind, stupid idea.”

Daryl snorts.  “All of your ideas seem pretty stupid to me.”

“Oh, really?”  Rick turns so that he’s lying on his side with his head resting on his hands, facing Daryl with a crooked smile.  “When was the last time you heard me talk about my idea for something?”

Shrugging, Daryl glances at Rick before quickly looking away.  “This whole thing seems pretty stupid to me.  You and me, I mean.”

Heart sinking to the bottom of his stomach, Rick blinks rapidly before reaching out and wrapping his fingers around Daryl’s jaw.  He does it without thinking, without worrying about the consequences.  “Hey, look at me.”

It takes a moment, but Daryl’s eyes slowly travel from the ceiling to Rick’s face, meeting his eyes with a heavy, shaky sigh.  “Just sayin’, we’re not exactly…a _good fit_.”

“I think that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Angling his body so that he’s leaning over the other boy, Rick pauses for a moment before pressing his lips so, _so_ gently to Daryl’s mouth.  Daryl doesn’t kiss back; he just lies there, eyes open, and brings his hand slowly to rest on Rick’s lower back.

“We should talk about all of this,” Rick whispers, his lips brushing Daryl’s with every word. 

But, even if he could find it in himself to say ‘yes,’ Daryl doesn’t know what he’d say.  Maybe that he’s not turning eighteen until August and that he knows what happens to underage kids who get taken away from abusive parents.  Or that he still loves his father in some weird, twisted way.  Or maybe even that he wants to run away with his brother, to build everything back from the bottom up, but that he has no idea where to start or how to bring it up.

And then there’s the issue of Rick, himself.  Daryl could spend hours, really, dissecting the strange, squirming feeling he gets in his gut every time Rick even so much as _looks_ at him.    He could ask if Rick feels the same way and what they should do about it.  He could ask if Rick wants to run away with him, too.

“Not right now,” is all he says, pressing his hand against Rick’s back and bringing him down for another, slightly more aggressive kiss.

Daryl has never, not _ever_ , kissed someone as often as he’s kissed Rick Grimes.  Everybody else in his life came and went, but that’s exactly how he wanted it, which is why being here, right now, is the most confusing, outrageous thing he’s ever done. 

But he can’t deny, not even if he tries, just how safe he feels.  With Rick lying half on top of him, peppering kisses across his jaw and down the column of his throat. 

Rick stops there, though.  He doesn’t try to push things any further, doesn’t try to cover up the bruises with kisses and flushed skin.  “You should sleep,” he whispers, running his fingers through the younger boy’s hair. 

“I think I’ve done enough sleeping over the past couple’a days.”  _Years, really_ , he thinks.  _It’s like I’ve been asleep for years._

Rick smiles, all white teeth in the dim room.  There’s something behind it, though, something that says he isn’t entirely comfortable with what’s happening and where it might go.  It’s the same smile that Michonne gives him when he promises her it won’t last much longer, that he’s almost out.

“I bet my bed’s more comfortable than yours,” Rick says, reaching for the blankets piled up at the bottom of the mattress.  “I bet you’ll sleep better tonight than you ever have before.”

He pulls the blankets up and over their chests, burying them in a cocoon of warmth.

Rick kisses him on the forehead, an embarrassingly domestic gesture that Daryl almost pulls away from.  He flips the bedside lamp off, bathing them in total darkness, and settles down with his face tilted towards Daryl’s on the pillow.

“Do you feel like going to school tomorrow?” Rick asks, closing his eyes even as the words ghost past his lips.  “You can stay here if you want.  My parents never come in here.”

Something in Daryl’s chest constricts painfully.  “I think I’ll go.”

“Hmm.  Good.  You can borrow some clothes of mine.”

“No offense, but torn jeans and flannel shirts aren’t exactly my style.”

Rick’s laughter is warm and full, but there’s still something laced underneath it; something that sounds fearful.   Unsure.  “We’ll make it work, don’t worry.”

“Alright, I won’t.”

Rick falls asleep with a smile on his face. 

Daryl doesn’t sleep at all.

xxx

The shrill scream of his alarm clock rips Rick from what might as well have been a dreamless sleep, for all he remembers.  With a groan, he flops onto his stomach and pulls the pillow over his head.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart.”

Grinning, Rick tosses the pillow onto the floor and sits up to face the boy leaning out the window with a cigarette caught between his fingers.  “Is that one of mine?”

Daryl only shrugs, hiding a smile as he swings one leg outside. 

Rolling out of bed, Rick takes a moment to stretch before moving to curl his arms around Daryl’s waist, snagging the cigarette and taking a much needed drag.  The air is cool, typical of early April, and all Rick wants to do is stay right here, by Daryl’s side, for as long as he’s allowed.

He knows, obviously, that things cannot—and will never _be_ —that simple for them.  Rick has plans after high school; plans that don’t include unrequited feelings for a boy with an abusive father and a stubbornness to rival the Devil’s.  But whether Daryl stays or leaves, Rick has a feeling that he won’t have much of a choice, either way.


	11. Let Me Out, Let Me In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY OTHER THAN I'M SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING SOONER AND THAT I HAD AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT PLAN FOR THIS CHAPTER BUT IT KIND OF BLEW UP AND BECAME THIS MESS OF A WHIRLWIND.
> 
> YOU'LL EITHER HATE ME OR LOVE ME IDK.
> 
> ((warning for homophobia))

On Wednesday, Daryl shows up to school in a pair of jeans that are bit too short on him, a tight, green flannel shirt, and a dirty old tank-top that he (thankfully) convinced Rick to let him wear, since it would have felt entirely too uncomfortable—not wearing at least _one_ thing that was his own.   In fact, other than the tank-top, the only thing on him that he owns are his boots and underwear.  Rick had even leant Daryl a pair of socks, wrinkling his nose up in disgust at the thought of wearing the same pair for more than one day.

(Rick _almost_ got Daryl to wear a pair of _his_ underwear, but Daryl was pretty insistent on wanting to keep his own, _thank you very much_.)

As per usual, Michonne is the first (and only) person to show up at Daryl’s locker that morning, looking him over with furrowed eyebrows and a bitten bottom lip.

“Take a picture,” he grumbles, grabbing his math book and resisting the urge to rip Rick’s shirt off then and there.

Rather than responding with something snappy or asking about the unusual wardrobe, Michonne merely asks, “Where’ve you been?  Two days out and not a single text.  That’s weird, even for you.”

Shrugging, Daryl slams his locker shut and tries to walk away from her, but she insistently grabs onto and tugs at his shirt.  “What’s with the bandage on your forehead, Daryl?  And why are you wearing somebody else’s clothes?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“It’s looking like you might not have a _choice_ , Daryl.”

Daryl’s heart speeds up.  “That a threat?”

“Getting you away from your fucked up excuse for a father shouldn’t be considered a _threat_.”

Anyone else, maybe even _Rick_ , would have been faced with a pretty serious trip to the nurse’s office the _second_ there was any _mention_ of Daryl’s father, but Michonne…is _Michonne_.  Daryl’s best (although not only, not anymore) friend and confidant; one of the only people he can trust away from his own brother.

“ _Look_ ,” Daryl sighs, pointedly looking away from the stern, set-in-stone look on his friend’s face.  “Only a couple more months before I’m eighteen, right?  And then I won’t have to worry ‘bout it no more.  I can leave, get away from it all.”

Michonne shakes her head, but her features soften enough that Daryl knows she isn’t going to tell anybody, at least not yet.  “It kills me to keep letting this happen to you, Daryl.  You know that, right?  I blame myself sometimes, for never speaking up—“

The shrill squeal of first period bell interrupts her, but Daryl makes no move to leave.  He simply stands there, dumbstruck, as she wipes hastily at her eyes and reaches out to flatten a wrinkle on his shirt.  “But I do it for you, because I know it’s what you want.  Don’t make me regret it, Dixon.  Don’t get lost on me.”

Before he can ask what she means, she’s straightening her spine and looking away from him, weaving her way into the early morning crowd of almost-late rushers.

Blinking away his confusion (and the heavy pressure building behind his eyes), Daryl shakes his head and makes his way towards Pre-Calculus.

xxx

Usually, Daryl and Michonne eat lunch alone, choosing the most secluded corner of the cafeteria and turning their chairs so that their backs are facing the rest of the lunch crowd.

But when Daryl goes to grab his usual seat, he’s surprised to find Rick setting his tray down across from him, shooting him a crooked smile before pulling the chair out and sitting like they do this every day.  Which they don’t.  They never have.

“What the hell are you—“  Daryl is cut off by Glenn Rhee’s obnoxious snort as he takes the seat beside Rick, followed by Maggie Greene, then Andrea and her little sister, Amy (who Daryl may or may not have had a drunken one-night stand with a couple months ago), and finally Beth, who sits as far from Daryl as physically possible and with a blush painting her cheeks. 

“No need for introductions, right?” Rick asks, looking around the table at all of his friends.  “You all know Daryl?”

“A little too well,” Amy whispers, earning a nudge in the ribs from her sister.

“Nice to finally meet you for real, though,” Andrea says through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.  She points her fork at Daryl.  “Sorry about the last time, by the way.  Alcohol and what-not.”

“Yeah, uh, _Rick_ …”

“Well, damn, it’s a party.”  Daryl nearly goes red in the face when Michonne slips into the only remaining seat beside him, smiling despite her general hatred towards most other people.  “Should ‘a let me know, Daryl.  I sure as hell would have dressed a little nicer.”

“It’s not…I didn’t even…”

“Michonne, right?” Andrea asks, reaching across the table to grab the other girl’s hand.  “You’re that girl who shoots spitballs at Mr. Wallas’ head.  I’ll admit, it’s a bit immature, but you’ve totally got my respect for it.  Old school.  I like it.”

Michonne laughs—actually _laughs_ at something that isn’t somebody else’s pain or Daryl’s dry cynicism.  “What can I say?  Chem is boring as hell.  Gotta lighten it up somehow.”

“I’m _never_ taking Chemistry,” Glenn adds.  “Not if Mr. Wallas is the one teaching it.”

And that’s kind of it, really.  They all talk around Daryl, including him occasionally.  Rick kicks at his feet under the table and shoots him these small, beautiful little grins.  Amy asks him how he’s been, if he knows of anybody giving out good weed these days, and Maggie scolds her playfully for steering the conversation.

And if Daryl smiles more than he pays attention to his meal…well, it’s not his fault.

xxx

Rick takes Daryl back to his house after school, promising to throw his clothes in the wash so that he can be on his merry way.

“I might stick around for a little while,” Daryl says, keeping his voice low even though it’s just the two of them, sitting side-by-side in a beat up old jeep. 

“Do you wanna stay for dinner?” Rick asks, like it’s absolutely the most casual question in the world.

Daryl expects a spike of fear, an adrenaline rush of confusion that forces him out the door of a moving car.  But it doesn’t come.  “Like, with yer family?”

Rick nods.

Daryl smiles.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

xxx

“Rick, _stop_ it!” Daryl laughs, throwing his head back against Rick’s pillow while the other boy kisses down the stretch of bare skin leading to his boxers, carefully avoiding the bruise spread across tanned skin.  “If you’re gonna do it, just _do_ it!”

“Be _patient_ ,” Rick hums.  He curls his fingers through the waistband of Daryl’s boxers, tugging them down just a fraction.  “Only good things come to those who _wait_.” 

“ _Rick_ —“

_“Rick, honey, are you in your room?”_

Daryl’s whole body freezes as Rick’s mother shouts for him at the bottom of the stairs, but Rick just smiles and presses another kiss against Daryl’s bare skin.  “Be down in a minute!  And I have a guest!”

_“Do they like spaghetti?”_

Rick looks up at Daryl, all wide, genuine eyes and gentle happiness.  “Do you like spaghetti?”

Daryl hasn’t had a home cooked meal in…well, _years_.  He’s lived on microwave meals for as long as he can remember.  He nods, reaching down to rub his thumb across Rick’s chin.  “Sounds good.”

“ _Sounds good_ ,” Rick calls out, climbing up the bed to kiss Daryl straight on the mouth, chaste and harsh.

xxx

Being back in his own clothes gives Daryl a layer of (pathetically thin) confidence.  Over the course of his more adventurous teenage years, he’s never _once_ met a person’s parents, excluding Michonne’s.  There was the occasional awkward run-in, getting caught sneaking out through the back door and having a door flung open while he was lying half-naked on top of somebody, but never something like…

Like _this_.

Rick’s mom is tall and pretty, grinning kindly at Daryl when she sets a place for him at the table.  “Nice to meet you, dear.  What’s your name?  Maybe my husband knows your parents.”

Daryl wants to snort at that, but a gentle nudge in the ribs from Rick keeps him poised.  “Uh…uhm…Daryl Dixon.  _Ma’am_.” 

“Dixon…Dixon…”  She mutters his last name as she moves back into the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove.  “That name sounds _so_ familiar…”

Rick shoots Daryl a curious glance just as the front door opens and in strolls Rick’s father, looking tired and stern in his perfectly pressed sheriff’s uniform.  His eyes glaze over his son before landing on Daryl, narrowing in question as he assesses the young boy.

Rick clears his throat and reaches under the table to give Daryl’s hand a quick squeeze.  “Dad, this is—“

“Daryl Dixon,” his father finishes for him, nodding as he places his hat on the back of his chair.  “I remember you.  From when you were younger.”

Daryl swallows hard, watching with tensed muscles as Rick’s father’s lips pull into a half-smile.  “Good to see you lookin’ better.”

“What are you talking about?” Rick asks, looking from his father to Daryl.  “You guys never met before.”  He pauses on Daryl.  “Did you?”

Daryl never thought, not in a _million years_ , that he’d ever have to face this man again. 

It was so long ago, so it’s not a surprise that Daryl didn’t remember the name, although he very clearly remembers those blue eyes and rigid expression. 

“ _Sorry about your loss, son_ ,” he had said.  “ _But it’ll get better, I promise_.”

“He was one of the officers who…” Daryl trails off, shaking his head and looking away while Rick’s mom brings a bowl of sauce to the table.  “He was one of the officers who found my mom.”

Rick’s brows furrow in confusion.  “What do you mean, ‘ _found your mom_?’”

Rick’s mother raises her eyebrows, as if struck by some sort of realization.  “Rick, honey, maybe it’s best if we just leave this alone for now—“

“You’re dating my son and you never bothered to tell him about the fact that your mother killed herself?”  Rick’s father takes his seat at the head of the table, not even bothering to look up as he addresses Daryl.  “You probably should have told him about the mental illness in your family.  And don’t try denying that you’re dating, by the way.  I see straight through you two.”

“Oh, Frank…” Mrs. Grimes sighs, looking nervously over at Daryl.  “Honey, this really isn’t appropriate right now.”

Her husband snorts.  “What isn’t _appropriate_ is that my son is not only _dating another boy_ , but one whose family has a history of psychotic tendencies.”

Daryl stands up without thinking, hands shaking at his sides.  Rick stands with him, but when he reaches for Daryl’s arm, Daryl shoves him off.

Taking a deep breath, Daryl forces himself to look Mr. Grimes in the eye, swallowing down the sudden, bubbling lump in his chest.  He feels angry, betrayed, and even a little bit claustrophobic.

When Daryl was a kid, Mr. Grimes was nothing but genuinely nice to him, offering him coffee even though he was only seven.  He’d handed Daryl several sugar packets, promising him once again that things would get better.

“Mrs. Grimes,” he says, curling his hands into fists at his sides.  “Thank you for inviting me to dinner, but I should probably get back to my family and their _psychotic tendencies_.  And Mr. Grimes…”  A bitter smile tugs at his lips.  “I am very much in love with your son, and I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual, so maybe it’s time you pull your head out of your _ass_ and learn a thing or two about respecting the boy you raised.”

He turns to face Rick, cupping the other boy’s face between his hands and pulling him in for a sweet, lingering kiss.  Right there, in the middle of the Grimes’ family kitchen, in front of Frank Grimes’ homophobic eyes.

And then, with one last nod at Rick, Daryl heads for the front door.

When he leaves, there are bitter, angry tears in Rick’s eyes, but he’s still smiling.

“You picked a good one,” his mother whispers, going back into the kitchen.  “Don’t you dare let him go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a pretty solid idea about how this story is going to end, and I'm pretty sure it's almost there;P I would promise you quicker updates but all that seems to do is disappoint the masses, so I'll leave you by saying simply that...I hope you enjoyed this chapter:D


	12. Saying Goodbye, For Starters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know what to say other that i am COMPLETELY, UTTERLY, AND ABSOLUTELY SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING SOONER. i know i keep using the "life slapped me across the face" excuse but it is HONEST TO GOD the truth!! 
> 
> this chapter is a bit of a (super sad) filler, but it's leading up to the last one/two chapter(s)!! ((and the prologue))

“I thought dad was okay with all of it.”  Rick is sitting at the edge of his bed, watching as his mother presses folded shirts into the already too-tight spaces of his drawer.  He’s told her a million times already that he can put away his _own_ clothes, _thank you very much_ , but whenever he goes to do it, she’s already gone and done it.  “I mean, that’s what he said, right?  When I came out to you guys?  You both did.  You both said you were alright with it, just so long as I ended up with somebody nice.  And I did.  I’m with somebody nice.  _Really_ nice.”

His mother sighs, pushing the drawer closed with her hip and moving to sit by her son on the bed.  She rests her hand on his back and mulls over where to start; _how_ to start.

“Your father was never entirely… _comfortable_ with the idea of you liking boys, sweetheart,” she begins.  “I think he always kind of thought you’d end up with Lori, maybe even Maggie.”

Rick snorts.

“But he is okay with…with _it_.  It’s more a matter of the _boy you chose_ than a matter of the fact that he’s a _boy_.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t make sense, because Daryl’s a _really_ nice guy.  Like, I know he has this bad reputation and everything but he’s nothing like that, not really.  And all that stuff about his mother, I’ve never heard any of that before—“

“His mother isn’t the problem.  I met her once, before she died.  She loved her husband and her sons, had nothing but nice things to say about them.  But I saw the bandages on that boy’s face tonight, and I know things have changed since she killed herself.”  She hesitates for a moment.  “Does Mr. Grimes beat Daryl, Rick?  You can tell me.”

Rick sighs, shaking his head and burying his head in his hands. 

He can’t even be happy about Daryl confessing his love, because now he has to deal with _this_. 

“Why did he never tell me about his mother?” Rick whispers, mostly to himself.  “I told him _everything_ …”

“I can’t imagine that it’s very easy to talk about.  Not even to somebody you love.”

And at that, Rick can’t help but smile a bit.  Daryl _loves_ him.  Daryl is _in love_ with him.

“Jesus, mom, I…I don’t even know where to _start_ with all of this…”

She leans over and kisses him on the temple, an action that would usually get her yelled at, but he kind of appreciates the contact right now, even if he’ll never admit it.  “I forgot, I always told you to stay away from that Dixon boy when you were younger, but I think he’s a little different now.  Besides, he obviously means something very special to you, so just…do whatever feels _right_.”

It’s not exactly… _good_ advice.  He doesn’t know what to do with it, anyway.

But it’s _something_.

“Thanks ma’,” he sighs, resting his head on her shoulder.  “I guess I gotta deal with dad first, huh?”

“Let me handle him, sweetheart.  Besides, he’ll calm down.”

“Yeah, hope so.”

xxx

Daryl isn’t angry when he gets home.

If anything, he’s… _relieved_.

He doesn’t have to hide it anymore – this odd, sweet-pain in his chest.  He can’t say he knew for sure what it was until the moment the words came out of his mouth, but he knows it’s been there for a while.

Walking into his house, he expects not to pay any attention to a drunk, passed-out-on-the-couch father, but he’s surprised when it’s _Merle_ sitting on the couch, perfectly awake and seemingly quite sober.  The lights are on and the television is off.  The usually familiar sound of gurgled snoring has been replaced by the kind of silence that somehow, impossibly, seems to make a noise all of its own.

Merle doesn’t even look up when Daryl slams the door shut behind him.

“Where’s dad?  Merle?”

The older boy says nothing, just nods at the coffee table.

At first, Daryl doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary amongst the table’s usual clutter.  Beer cans, loose sheets of newspaper, wrinkled chip bags.  He doesn’t notice the small slip of paper until Merle nods again, pointing at the note and motioning for Daryl to read it.

With furrowed brows, Daryl grabs the paper and narrows his eyes to make out the messy chick-scratch scribbled haphazardly across the page.

**_Boys,_ **

**_I don’t know what to say.  I have too much pride to apologize and I know you don’t wanna hear it anyway.  So I’m leaving.  Going North.  Take care of each other.  Don’t try to contact me.  I tossed my phone.  There’s $1000 cash under my mattress.  It won’t get you far but it’ll get you somewhere._ **

**_-Norm Dixon_ **

Daryl stares at the name scrawled across the bottom for what feels like hours.  It doesn’t make sense – how impersonal it is.  How could his own father – _his own flesh and blood_ – not give him just _one_ thing?  Just one small bit of acknowledgement, a pinch of fatherly love?

“That’s it?” Daryl asks out loud, although the question isn’t directed towards anybody but himself.

“That’s it.” Merle repeats, with a note of finality to the words.  He nods harshly, as if coming to some sort of decision.  “I won’t lie, baby brother, things are gonna be tight for a while.  A thousand dollars ain’t much these days, and I have _some_ money saved up in the bank, but even that…”

Daryl stops listening.

Something clicks into place.

A miserable moment of understanding.

“We’re leaving.”

The older boy stops talking long enough to give is little brother a pitying look, but the image he makes as an apologetic man quickly fades into the stern lines around his eyes.  “We have to.  Gotta find somewhere cheaper.  Maybe live on a farm or somethin’.  Get paid for all that manual labor bullshit.”

“So I just…ain’t gonna graduate?” Daryl asks, even though that’s not the real reason his hands are shaking and he feels like he’s about to vomit all over their nasty, straight-from-the-70’s carpet.  “Just like that, you’re gonna tear me away from everything that I’ve built here?  Merle, I—“

“Now hold up.”  Merle holds his hands up, as if in surrender.  “Never said nothin’ ‘bout you not graduating school.  I won’t let you miss out on that opportunity.  I’m just sayin’…you might have to work your last few months at a new school.”

“But _why_?”  It’s so childish, so _whiney_ , that Daryl wants to punch himself in the face the moment the words leave his lips. 

Merle snorts, probably assuming that the question was a joke.  “Can’t afford this place.  Can’t afford to live in the area.  I’ve got some friends that can help us, keep us under a roof for a little bit…”

Again, Daryl stops listening.  He holds the note away from his chest, as if afraid that it might burn him.

_On one hand_ , he thinks, _I’m free from my jackass of a father.  For good, too._  

_On the other_ , he thinks, _this all means I have to…I **have** to…_

He can’t even let himself finish the thought.

He drops the note, lets it flutter to the ground like the trash it is, and reaches frantically for his cellphone.

“…we’ll have to put this place up for sale, not that anybody’ll buy it…”  Merle is droning on, scrubbing a hand down his face as he assesses the shit-pile they’ve been living in ever since their mother died.  “Gonna take about a whole day to clean…and there’s so many damn phone calls I gotta make… _shit_ …”

Daryl isn’t worried about any of that, though.  Merle may act dumb sometimes, but he knows his way around things, and Daryl is pretty confident that he’ll get everything all figured out.  He’s not even worried about finding a new school.  It’ll only be for a few months, anyway.

None of that is what has Daryl opening up Rick’s messages, scrolling through the mess of their conversations and trying to tell himself that _he can let this go, he can do it_. 

“Hey, Daryl, you alright?”

There’s one message, a few weeks old, and it doesn’t even mean much, but it makes tears well up in Daryl’s eyes and _god_ , how could he have been so _stupid_?

Stupid enough to let somebody like Rick Grimes _in_ , past the walls that he kept up for a very _specific_ purpose.  Stupid enough to think that, once he had Rick, he could keep him.  Stupid enough to think that he was better than his reputation, better than his father, better than his mother.

But he isn’t, is he?

He’s a useless, no good fuck-up.  Somebody like Rick could never _really_ love him.  He was faced with a problem (the problem being _Daryl_ ) and was in love with the idea of _solving_ it.

But that can’t happen.  Daryl Dixon is not a problem to be solved.

He’s just…a _problem_.

When he looks up at Merle, the tears are gone.  He stuffs his phone back into his pocket.  “Let’s get cleaning then, yeah?”

Merle looks skeptical, maybe even a bit concerned, but one of the last things the Dixon brothers actually do is _talk it out_.  So he just nods.  “I’ll go grab some garbage bags.  Everything of dad’s can go.  I’ll grab the money, too.  Put it in the bank with the rest of my cash later.”

Daryl hums in agreement, briefly contemplating the idea of just burning the whole place down.

Reaching down to pick up his father’s letter, one of Rick’s messages sticks out again in his brain, flashing before his eyes like the lights of a speeding truck.  His hands shake while he grabs the letter and reaches for a lighter sitting on the coffee table.

**_From: Rick at 1:01 AM: missed u in school today! miss u a lot, actually;P  probably shouldnt have said that.  oh well.  goodnight, handsome <3_ **

The letter burns.

Something of Daryl’s, something he can’t quite name, burns alongside it.

xxx

“But I don’t _get_ it,” Michonne growls into the phone, wiping furiously at her eyes whilst fighting to keep the sound of tears out of her voice.  “You’re just up and _leaving_?  Just like that?  What about—“

“It ain’t my _choice_ ,” Daryl’s voice snaps back.  “You _know_ I want to… _Jesus_ , Michonne, you fucking _know_ …”

They sit in silence, then, the phone crackling with static between the two lines.  Daryl can’t finish whatever it is he was trying to say and Michonne doesn’t have much fight left in her.  She stares at the end of her bed, remembers all of the times Daryl passed out there, drunk and miserable and nursing a fresh bruise, and chokes back a sob.

“So you’re not comin’ to school anymore?”

Daryl sighs.  “Merle’s on the phone with the main office right now.  I’m pretty sure it’s official, though.  They’re gonna have somebody clean out my locker and drop the stuff off.  He wants to be out of here, day after tomorrow.  How fucked up is that?”

Michonne doesn’t know what to say.

“Can you come over tomorrow?  Help me clean the place up?  Merle’s gonna be out all day—“

“Of course,” Michonne says, perhaps too quickly.  “Who needs school anyway, right?”

Daryl laughs, but the sound is cut short.  “Listen, I gotta go…”

“Then go,” she coughs out.  “I’ll see you tomorrow, anyway.”

She hangs up before he can say goodbye, going immediately to her recent messages. 

**_To: Andrea at 10:43 PM:  I need your help with something.  Need you to call Rick and get ready to fake sick.  We’re skipping tomorrow._ **

**Author's Note:**

> please, don't be afraid to tell me what i could do better! any bit of feedback you provide is appreciated!!


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